Deformography
by Euphyrosine
Summary: What starts out as an innocent bet between friends ends up becoming much more. Nick/Greg, eventual Nick/Greg/Hodges. Graphic smut, do be warned.
1. Still a Worm

Minimal spoiler alert. Set midway through season 5, after Greg passes his proficiency. Story and chapter titles are taken from Marilyn Manson songs, in homage to Greg's taste in music. Enjoy!

* * *

After another hard day at the lab, Greg Sanders was about to sit down with a cold beer and an episode of Dexter. It was his time-honoured ritual to relax and unwind after work, which was not only helpful after the things he often saw on the job, but quite necessary. He was all set to go—just in the process of slipping the DVD into the machine—when there was a knock on his apartment door. Frowning, he glanced over the clock on his kitchen wall. He couldn't think of anyone who would be calling on him at this hour, aside from perhaps a neighbour. With an exaggerated sigh, Greg set his beer down on the coffee table and crossed the small space. When he unlocked the deadbolt and swung open the door, he was surprised by the face he saw there. It belonged not to a neighbour, but rather to Nick Stokes, one of his co-workers at the crime lab.

"Nick... hi," he said rather awkwardly, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. It wouldn't take someone as observant as Nick to see that Greg hadn't been expecting company. The young CSI's ratty, grey sweatpants and paint-stained Nine Inch Nails t-shirt said as much.

Nick, on the other hand, was still in his crime scene vest. The bleary look in his eyes was indicative of working a long graveyard shift—Greg was familiar with the feeling. He saw that look in his own eyes far too often.

"Sorry to drop in on you like this," Nick began, "but I was in the area on a case. Thought I'd swing by and see if you'd passed out yet."

Greg pulled a suspicious expression. "How very thoughtful. And creepy."

"I should have known you'd turn that into some kind of innuendo," said Nick, shaking his head. "I've won many a bet thanks to your depraved mind, Sanders."

"Then you should be thanking me," Greg stated, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. He leaned casually against the doorframe, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while the older man chuckled.

"In your dreams, lab rat."

Greg frowned. "Hey, I'm a full-fledged CSI now. And that's no way to get invited in."

"You underestimate how well I know you, Greggo." Nick shot the younger man a knowing look, which turned out to be rather persuasive, Greg realized. Damn him.

"That's probably true," he conceded, opening the door wide enough for Nick to enter. Heading for the kitchen, he glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Want anything to drink?"

Nick shut the door behind him and made a beeline for the living room, flopping down on the couch. Having hung out quite a bit since Greg's promotion to field work, the two of them felt very much at ease in each other's homes. Both of them knew how difficult it was to maintain a social life working the graveyard shift, and thus appreciated each other's company.

"Just a beer, if you haven't polished them all off already," said Nick, undoing his bulky crime scene vest and tossing it onto a nearby armchair.

"Coming right up." Greg fished another light beer out of the fridge and cracked off the lid. "I hope you're not still clocked in, otherwise I'll be responsible for getting you drunk on the job," he stated, handing the beer to Nick and collapsing beside him on the couch. "Catharine would have my head. Grissom too, for that matter."

Nick laughed, taking a gulp of beer. "Relax Sanders, I'm not on the clock."

"So my innocent reputation will live to see another day?"

"Looks like it," Nick replied, then suddenly he paused and cast the younger man a skeptical glance. "Funnily enough, I can't recall a time when you had an innocent reputation. I think your assorted fetishes might have something to do with it."

Greg downed the remainder of his beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table. "What, so one penchant for latex makes me a fetish man?" Nick shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, you need to get out more Nicky," Greg told him, smirking. He reached for the remote and switched the TV's input feed over to DVD, remembering Dexter waiting patiently in the machine.

Nick ran a hand through close-cropped hair. "You know me, Greggo," he said, offering the other CSI an earnest look. "I'm old fashioned. Nothing wrong with that."

The spiky-haired man raised an eyebrow. "You say that now, but one thing I've learned about people is that _everyone_ has a fetish. Some are just more socially acceptable than others."

"Oh really?" Nick inquired, as the Dexter theme song played through the speakers. Intrigue twinkled in the Texan's eyes. "Well what's my fetish then?"

Greg grinned. "You're an ass man, of course. I've seen you checking out Catharine's on a few occasions, not to mention mine."

Nick sighed, but there was a smile on his face. "You're really a piece of work, you know that Sanders?"

"Meaning you liked what you saw?" Greg asked, sending a sly wink at his co-worker. Nick's only response was to pick up one of the couch cushions and whip it at Greg's head. "Alright, point taken," the younger man mumbled, rearranging his hair.

Once the episode started the two of them actually shut up, and more beers were brought over from the fridge. Greg didn't usually drink very much on his own—maybe one or two beers max—but halfway through the episode he and Nick had already downed his entire twelve pack, and were now moving on to the only other alcohol in his apartment; an untouched bottle of tequila that Warrick had given him for his birthday last year.

Nick sought out two shot glasses from the cupboard and brought everything over to the coffee table, which was now littered with empty beer bottles and caps. He poured them each a shot and handed one to Greg.

"We must be insane," said the younger CSI. He glanced toward the television where Dexter was stalking his next potential victim. "Tequila at seven-thirty in the morning... my mother would be so proud."

The two of them clinked glasses and took their shots, each coming away with the same pained expression.

"Jesus, Rick really knows how to choose 'em," Nick stated, setting his shot glass down and inspecting the bottle. "Where the hell did he get this stuff—Mexico? It's fifty-five percent alcohol!" He handed the bottle to Greg, whose eyes went as wide as saucers when he read the label for himself.

"Oh god, this morning is going to end with me slumped over a toilet, isn't it?" Greg asked, sagging back into the couch. He could already feel the six beers in his system working their magic, and it was only a matter of time now before the tequila began to catch up with him.

"Maybe for you, Mr. Lightweight," Nick teased. "Some of us can actually handle our alcohol."

Greg whacked him over the head lightly with the remote. "Alright then hotshot—prove it. If you can handle, let's say... four more shots, you win. And if you're drunk after the four, then I win."

The thrill of competition blazed in Nick's eyes. "What are the stakes?" he asked, right down to business.

"Loser has to do something for the winner," the younger CSI suggested.

"How about a foot massage?"

Greg quirked a curious eyebrow. "A foot massage? Really?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, pervert," Nick said, laughing. "I've been on my feet all day at a crime scene, man. They're killing me."

"Fair enough," Greg replied, nodding. "So the loser gives the winner a foot massage, and that's it?" He paused for a moment, considering the scenario. "You know, that doesn't really seem so bad. How about if either party pops a boner during the foot massage, they have to clean the winner's apartment in a French maid costume?"

Having been in the process of filling the shot glasses, Nick nearly spilled tequila all over the table. "Greg!" he exclaimed, setting the bottle down angrily. "I said mind _out of _the gutter. Jesus!"

"Sorry," the younger man replied, laughing. "And I hope you realize I was just joking about that last bit."

"I should hope so," said Nick, still looking rather startled. "Enough delay. One mental image of you in a French maid costume is enough. It's time to show you up, Sanders."

Greg cocked his head to the side. "Bring it on, if you can. And I'd look damn hot in a French maid costume, by the way."

Nick shook his head, either at Greg's statement or in attempt to clear that image from his mind. Then he picked up his shot glass and downed his second tequila of the morning. His third followed shortly after, until he'd made it all the way to his fifth and completed the terms of the bet.

"I told you," he said, licking some of the excess liquid off his lips. "I'm fine."

"For the moment maybe, but you haven't even given it time to kick in yet," Greg shot back.

Nick threw his hands up in the air. "Fine then. You do one while we wait."

Greg smirked. He was definitely buzzed, but evidently not drunk enough in Nick's mind. That was an interesting thought. "Not as much of a lightweight as you thought I was, huh?" he asked. Nick simply crossed his arms over his chest. Obligingly, Greg poured himself another drink and shot it back. He was amused to note that the once half-full bottle was now bordering on empty. "Satisfied, Mr. Stokes?" Greg teased, holding up his empty shot glass for the other CSI to observe.

"Not until I win this bet. How much longer to prove I'm not wasted?"

Greg glanced at the television. "Until the end of the episode. If at that point you can walk a straight line then you win fair and square. Agreed?"

Nick nodded. There was only about fifteen minutes left anyway. Greg was hoping that would be long enough for the tequila to take effect. The more he thought about losing and having to give Nick a foot massage, the more he wanted one himself. Nick wasn't the only one with sore feet.

Just as Dexter's end credits began to roll, Greg felt his most recent shot of tequila going straight to his head. It wasn't an uncomfortable level of intoxication, but he had certainly passed being buzzed a few miles back.

"Alright Greggo, you gonna test me or shall we just skip it and declare me the winner?" There was a triumphant smile on Nick's face, as though he'd already won.

"No way. Get your ass off this couch and walk a straight line, dirtbag," Greg demanded, feeling a little like Brass and liking it.

Nick chuckled. "I'm going to make a mental note that you get mouthy when you're drunk." He rose from the couch as steadily as if sober and walked a straight line, heel to toe, from one side of the living room to the other. Greg's hopes for a foot massage were unfortunately dashed. "See? Not wasted. I told you I could handle it."

Greg pouted, giving him the distinct appearance of a kicked puppy dog. "You cheated," he whined, heaving himself off the couch somewhat unsteadily. "That's fifty-five percent alcohol..." Once he was on his feet, he began to sway slightly in place. In a split-second, Nick was there beside him to keep him from falling over. He had a tight grip on Greg's upper arms to keep him balanced. Greg couldn't help but notice how warm the man's hands felt.

"Whoa, careful there buddy," Nick said, easing Greg back down onto the couch. He sat down on the other end and began pulling his socks off. "I don't want to hear any excuses to get out of this just 'cause you're drunk."

"Wasn't going to. Drunk or not, it can't be that difficult. It's just a foot massage."

"A well-deserved foot massage, if I do say so myself." Nick extended his bare feet toward Greg and sat them down on his lap. Greg stared at them as if he'd never seen another man's feet up close before. "Greggo? They're clean, I promise."

"Ha. Not what I was thinking, but I suppose that's good to know," he said, still staring at the feet on his lap. After a deep breath, he decided just to dive right in and put his hand on Nick's right foot.

Nick watched the young CSI inquisitively. "Then what were you thinking?" he asked, feeling the former lab tech's nimble fingers begin to massage his aching muscles.

"Nothing, really," Greg lied, a tiny smirk on his lips. "Well, just that you have big feet, and you know what they say about big feet..."

The Texan groaned loudly. He picked up another pillow and tossed it at Greg's face, but it bounced off and fell to the floor behind the couch. "You thinking about my dick is an image I'd like out of my mind, Sanders. Not easy to do when you're touching me, you realize?"

Greg laughed to himself, kneading the tense muscles around Nick's arch. "I can't help it if I speak my mind. I thought that's what made me so quirky and loveable?"

Nick shook his head in disbelief, but reached across the couch and ruffled Greg's already messy hair. "You know what Greggo—you're a lot better at this than I anticipated," Nick stated, feeling the tension draining out of his feet. "I might need to contract your services more often."

"Great. Now I'm a foot massage prostitute, only I don't get paid," Greg joked, swapping Nick's right foot for his left. "If my mother was proud before, I must be son of the year by now."

The Texan laughed. "CSI by night, foot prostitute by day. Has a nice ring to it."

Greg chuckled and kept kneading the man's left foot. By this point his hands were starting to get a bit sore, but he figured he owed it to Nick to do the best job he could. He'd never given a foot massage to anyone before, let alone a man. The one thing that kept crossing his mind above all others was how soft the skin of Nick's foot was. For someone who spent so much time on their feet at crime scenes, he'd expected calluses and toughness. Instead it was like the skin of the inner arm; smooth and perfect.

The harder Greg worked, the more his technique improved. After a few minutes Nick's body language changed. Where he'd been stiff and slightly uneasy, he was now relaxed and comfortable. It looked as if he'd slowly melted into the couch, the way he was slumped down. Over the course of the past few minutes his eyes had slowly closed and his mouth now hung open the tiniest bit—a visible indication of his enjoyment.

The whole experience was doing something unexpected to Greg. At first it made him feel good about himself to know that his foot massages didn't suck, but it quickly progressed much further. The look of rapture on Nick's face, the feel of his skin under Greg's hands, the little responses (like a deep, breathy sigh) the man gave every so often—it was making Greg hard. And not just 'response to stimuli' hard, but 'I want to fuck you right now' hard. Greg wasn't the only one shocked by the surprise boner. When, after a long moment, Nick finally opened his eyes, he saw it clear as day.

"Greggo?" he said tentatively.

Greg jumped a bit, unaware that Nick's eyes were open. He tried to shift the position of the man's feet on his lap to hide the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, but without Nick's cooperation, all that did was brush one of the Texan's feet against the tented area. For a moment, Greg froze like a deer in headlights, as did Nick. Then, Greg quickly tossed the man's feet off his lap and curled up with his knees to his chest to hide the evidence.

"You're kidding me, Sanders," said Nick, scooting towards the younger man on the couch. There was an odd look in his eyes that Greg couldn't quite put his finger on. "Was that what I think it was?"

"No idea what you're talking about..." Greg mumbled, staring at the television. He was trying his hardest to keep his eyes from meeting Nick's, but even still, a hot flush had begun to spread across his pale cheeks.

Nick couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Come on, open your legs Greg." The former lab tech's eyes went wide as saucers and he shook his head vigorously. Nick repeated, "_Greg_. Come on."

"Why?" Greg blurted out. "You want to touch it Nicky?"

Neither of the men in the room expected Greg's voice to come out so deep and seductive. It gave them both pause for a split-second before Greg seemed to come to his senses and moved to get up from the couch. Just then, Nick saw his opportunity and took it. He reached between Greg's legs in transition, his hand pressing down over warm flesh straining against several layers of fabric.

An unexpected keening noise ripped itself from Greg's throat and seemed to hang in midair. In shock, the young man plopped back down on the couch in what he came to realize was an extremely vulnerable position. His legs were wide open, facing Nick, whose hand remained in place.

"Shit Greggo, what's this?" Nick inquired, staring curiously at the bulge his hand covered.

Thinking fast, Greg replied, "Purely a physical reaction, it has nothing to do with, you know... the foot massage or anything."

Nick moved his hand a little, causing a delicious amount of friction over the fabric. Greg swallowed loudly. "I guess this means you lost another bet, my friend," said Nick, looking excited. "I hope you have a French maid costume handy."

"W-what?" Greg stammered, panic rising in his chest. "I was just joking about—"

"Your words, not mine," Nick interjected. "And you did get a stiffie, after all." For emphasis, he gave Greg a rough stroke through his sweatpants. The young man threw his head back involuntarily, sucking in a sharp breath of air. If alcohol was supposed to make men impotent, it certainly wasn't working. Greg had never been this hard in his entire life.

"Tease," Greg hissed, his tone goading. He couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth—it sounded like he was daring Nick to do something about it.

The corner's of Nick's lips curled up into a devious grin. "Maybe I just like seeing you squirm, Greggo." He punctuated this statement with another stroke, this one rougher than the last.

Squirm Greg did. It took all of his willpower not to buck up into Nick's waiting hand. "I thought you said you were old fashioned. Doesn't this—_ahhh_—" Nick stroked him once more "—kind of contradict that?" Greg asked.

"I don't know," Nick said thoughtfully, "does it?" He and Greg locked eyes. A sea of emotion seemed to pass through their connection—surprise, lust, discovery, longing. It awakened something in the two men that neither realized had been there before.

"You make fun of me for being kinky, yet here you are torturing me like a sadist," Greg pointed out, casting Nick a knowing look. "I hope you realize I'm seconds away from whacking off right here, right now."

Suddenly the warmth and friction of Nick's hand was gone. To say Greg was disappointed would have been an understatement. He stared questioningly at the older CSI.

"Alright then Greggo, let's see what you're made of," Nick challenged, a passionate glint in his eye.

Greg felt his heart skip a beat—several, more like. "Wow, you really are a tease," he stated, glaring at the dark-haired Texan in front of him. Under normal circumstances, exhibitionism was not among Greg's assorted list of fetishes, but just then, he was too drunk and too horny to care. Mustering up the confidence, he stared Nick straight in the eye and replied, "If you insist."

First off, he pulled his sweatpants down just enough to get access to the crotch of his black boxer briefs. Through the thin fabric, he could already feel the heat of the engorged flesh beneath. Deciding not to waste any more time, he finally freed himself from the confines of his clothing. As the cool, room-temperature air made contact with his skin he moaned lowly in his throat. Surprisingly enough, the experience wasn't making him shy; it was quite the opposite, in fact. He felt empowered by the thought of Nick watching him expose himself like this. Somewhere in the back of Greg's mind—where some semblance of normal brain function was still taking place—he realized this was yet another kink to add to his list.

Nick, who was frozen in place just a few feet from Greg's open legs, stayed rooted in place. His eyes swept over the younger man's straining endowment, from the very base up to the enlarged purple tip. The sight of the Texan examining his cock sent a thrill of excitement up Greg's spine.

That was it for Greg; he couldn't wait any longer. Very slowly, he began to stroke himself. The effect was immediate—his face contorted in pleasure and his eyes fell shut. It felt so good to finally have skin against skin. On every upstroke, when his fist closed around the swollen tip of his penis, a sharp whimper and occasionally a curse word would escape his lips. At that point, Greg wasn't the only one hard as a rock.

"Shit," Greg breathed, feeling himself getting close. He glanced up at Nick just as a few dribbles of pre-come leaked onto his hand. When Nick tore his eyes away from the sight down below and the two locked eyes, Greg felt a powerful surge of pleasure through his cock and knew what was coming. "_Fuck... fuck, ahhh Nick_."

Greg was coming like he'd never come in his life. The orgasm hit him like a freight train; he threw his head back into the cushions, mouth open in a silent scream. If the sheer amount of semen wasn't startling enough, the projection definitely was. Not only was his hand covered, but his sweatpants had also seen better days. There was even some on the couch, just shy of where Nick was sitting.

Breathing heavily, Greg released his spent cock and stared at his hand, watching the come trickle down his palm. A large part of him still couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Does this mean we both have to wear the French maid outfit?" he asked innocently, gesturing to the bulge in Nick's khakis that the man wasn't even attempting to hide. It was difficult not to stare at it; Greg was trying his hardest to avert his eyes, but the bulge seemed to command his attention.

Nick cracked a smile—probably having noticed Greg's area of interest, the younger man realized, feeling embarrassed—but proceeded to shake his head in response to Greg's question. "Nope, it's still just you. That part of the bet only applied to getting hard during the foot massage."

Frowning, Greg asked, "So you're still going to hold me to that bet, even though I was joking?"

"Of course," Nick told him, as though it should have been obvious. "There's no way you're squirming out of this one, Greggo. It was your idea."

"But you like it when I squirm," said Greg, grinning playfully. "I think you're secretly hoping I will, just so you can watch." When Nick made no attempt to deny this, Greg added, "Perv. Forget ass man, you're a voyeur. And a sadist too, apparently."

"Oh really?" Nick challenged, raising an eyebrow. "What about you, Mr. Exhibitionist?" He motioned toward Greg's crotch, where the young man's cock remained out of his boxers, still semi-erect. "Planning on beating off again? Or did you not come enough the first time?" he asked sarcastically, glancing around at the mess Greg had made.

That reminded him... now that the moment was over, Greg took the opportunity to tuck himself back into his boxers and pull his sweatpants up—not that there was a whole lot of dignity to be found in his actions, since Nick was watching the whole time and his sweatpants were still covered in his own semen. "You're the one who told me to go for it," Greg protested. "I wouldn't have even considered—"

"Moaning my name when you came?"

Greg blushed profusely. That was a subject he'd been hoping not to discuss. Abruptly, he rose from the couch and grabbed a fistful of empty beer bottles off the coffee table, heading for the kitchen. At least cleaning up would give him something else to think about, and an excuse not to reply to that comment.

Unfortunately, it looked like Nick wasn't about to let it go. "C'mon Greggo, I didn't mean to make fun. You were right; I did egg you on. And you getting turned on in the first place was probably my fault for having sexy feet." Nick flashed him a toothy smile, and Greg set the bottles down on the counter, laughing. "I just wanted to know what it was all about when you said my name," the Texan continued. "Can you blame me for being curious?"

Greg sighed. "I guess not. But I don't know what you want me to say," he told the other CSI, leaning his elbows on the countertop. "You were sitting right in front of me, watching me... I don't know, Nicky. Your name just sort of... came out."

It was unclear whether Nick believed him or not. Either way, he seemed to consider the statement for a moment before making like Greg; rising from the couch and bringing a few empties over to the kitchen.

"It's alright, you don't have to do that," the young man told his guest, but Nick brought the rest of the bottles over anyway. "I know it's kind of awkward," said Greg, running a hand through messy hair, "so if you want to leave, I understand."

"Greggo?" The young CSI looked up. "I'll say this—it would be awkward if we were just co-workers. But we've been friends for a while now. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I just want you to know that."

Slowly, a smile spread across Greg's face. "It sure feels like I should be embarrassed, but to tell you the truth, I'm not. Well, not about jerking off at least." He paused to look down at his pants. "It's more the fact that I'm covered in come."

Nick shook his head, chuckling. "I told you—exhibitionist."


	2. You Just Do What They Tell You

The next day at work—despite being assigned to DNA instead of getting to go out in the field—Greg felt on top of the world. He tried not to let it show too much or someone (probably Hodges, knowing him), might notice something was up. Ironically, it _was_ Hodges that he ran into in the hallway en route to the break room.

"Watch where you're going Sanders," the trace technician warned, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "Wouldn't want to spill this all over that face of yours. So I hear, it's the only thing you've got going for you these days."

Frowning, Greg snapped closed the manila folder in his hands. "You would know, the way you stare at it from across the hall all day," he remarked.

The older man seemed affronted. "That's ridiculous—"

"In case you hadn't noticed Hodges, the walls are made of glass. I can see right into your lab. It's kind of hard to miss you staring a hole through the back of my head." He paused for a breath, while David merely stared at him. "And while we're on the subject, I have plenty going for me, so don't hold your breath waiting for me to screw up on a crime scene. Or rather, do. That way we can avoid these tiresome little chats."

David's face was a mask of indifference. "I enjoy you much better depressed and sulking over your failures," he stated, then quickly turned on his heel and retreated to his lab.

Greg was certain the day couldn't get any better from there. However, shortly after the encounter with Hodges, Nick stopped by the DNA lab for some test results. Greg handed him his findings for the blood swab he'd dropped off earlier in the evening. It was a match to a repeated carjacker that had recently been released from prison.

"Thanks Greggo," said Nick, looking over the report. "I think this could be our guy." He stared at the sheet of paper a while longer, then looked up at Greg. "My place tonight, right?" Greg nodded. The older man leaned in slightly, making sure his voice wouldn't carry. "Don't forget the costume." He thumped the DNA technician on the back, then headed on his way.

Greg found himself smiling as he watched Nick leave. Then, with a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach, he glanced beyond the hallway and realized that Hodges was staring at him. Probably just to be an ass, and because he'd caught Greg smiling like an idiot, David offered him a friendly little wave. Greg's throat had suddenly gone dry. He tried swallowing, but his tongue felt like sandpaper. He tried not to panic, reminding himself that there was technically nothing going on between him and Nick anyway, but David's stare was making him nervous. It was like the man could see right through him, and Greg didn't like it one bit.

The bathroom. That was it. He'd go to the bathroom, collect himself, and come back. Trying not to look in David's direction, Greg headed out of his lab and down the hall.

Thankfully, the bathroom was deserted. Greg picked one of the urinals and unzipped his fly, trying to think calming thoughts. So what if David had seen him smile at Nick? That proved nothing at all.

"Stokes, huh?" said a voice from behind him.

Greg nearly jumped clean out of his skin. He quickly zipped up his fly and turned around, only to find David standing near the sinks, arms crossed over his chest.

"Jesus..." Greg exclaimed, "warn a guy when you're in the room, will you?"

"I thought it might be funnier if I surprised you." There was a look of great satisfaction in his eyes that made Greg grit his teeth. "It was."

"I think I just had a heart attack, but I'm glad you thought it was funny," Greg said sarcastically, heading over to the sinks to wash his hands. Before he could make it there, however, David stepped in front of him.

The trace technician appeared to be studying him rather meticulously. "No visible marks on the neck, face or hands. Nothing out of the usual." Greg couldn't figure out what David was up to. He seemed to be talking to himself. "You two must have been very careful. So tell me Sanders—how long?"

"What are you talking about?"

David rolled his eyes dramatically. "Trust me, I'm immune. You might be able to bat those pretty brown eyes at some people around here and get away with whatever you want, but the cute stuff doesn't work on me."

If anything, Greg was even more confused than before. And did he really just hear David say he had pretty eyes? What the hell was going on?

"Hodges, I'm really not following."

David let out a sharp, impatient sigh. "Alright Sanders, let me put it in layman's terms so you can keep up. I've seen you and Stokes leaving together almost every day. Even when he's working cases with no DNA evidence at all, he finds an awful lot of time to be in your lab. You take your breaks together, even carpooled to work when his truck broke down last month. I had no reason to think anything of these things until now. So I repeat—how long have you been letting him fuck you?"

Greg burst out laughing, even though he was fighting down a wave of inner panic. He thought it would look better on his part if he kept his usual mocking rapport with Hodges instead of getting defensive. "You actually believe that? God, Nick will die when he hears this. You really know how to wind yourself up over nothing, don't you?" David frowned. That obviously wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting. "If you're finished now, may I please wash my hands in peace?"

Looking as though Greg had ripped the wind out of his sails, David stepped aside. He stared at Greg's reflection in the mirror as though he couldn't believe he'd been wrong.

"Honest to god, that's the funniest thing I've heard in a long time," Greg added, wiping his hands on his lab coat. Before David had the chance to say anything in response, Greg was already out of the bathroom and down the hall.

* * *

When Greg arrived at Nick's apartment after his shift, he told the other CSI what had happened with Hodges. Neither man took the situation lightly; it was bad enough that one person suspected they were fucking (especially since it wasn't true), but if David told anyone, especially either of their supervisors, they would _really_ be up to their necks in it.

"What I don't get," Greg began, sipping on a beer from Nick's fridge, "is why Hodges cares so much. I mean, I know he has no life, but this is pretty nosy even for him."

Nick stared at him in surprise. "What, you're kidding right? You have _no_ idea why he's so interested in your personal life?"

"What does that mean?" Greg retorted. "Should I? I thought it was just 'cause he hates me. Is that not reason enough to annoy someone anymore?"

"You've got it all backwards, man," Nick told him, a twinge of sympathy in his voice. "The guy's been mooning over you since day one. Don't you see him staring at you all the time? We all thought you knew about it..."

Greg opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss for words. It was just too much to process at once.

"Honestly, Greggo. I was sure you knew."

"No, it's not your fault," Greg reassured him, staring vacantly at the beer in his hand. "I guess I should have, I just never looked at things that way. I really had no idea..."

Nick placed a gentle hand on Greg's shoulder. "Don't blame yourself. Hodges is a complicated guy, to say the least. Even with all his staring it wasn't that easy to see."

"Then how come everyone but me clued in?"

"If I recall, you were busy listening to Marilyn Manson and getting promoted," Nick said with a smile. He gave Greg's hair a quick ruffle for good measure. "Don't worry about Hodges. We'll deal with him together, okay?" Greg nodded. "Good. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you owe my apartment a deep-cleaning."

Greg groaned loudly. In an attempt to escape the situation, he flopped onto his back on the couch and covered his face with a pillow. "Just kill me now, Nick," said his muffled voice from beneath the pillow. "I'm not putting that thing on."

"No turning back now, Greggo. In the bathroom you go." Greg wanted to fight tooth and nail not to go through with the bet, but he had a feeling that Nick wasn't caving on this one. "The quicker you get it over with, the quicker you can take it off. And the less chance there will be of any of my neighbours seeing you," Nick reminded him.

"You _are _a sadist, I'm telling you," Greg grumbled, reluctantly heading for the bathroom with his gym bag in tow. When he got to the doorway, he turned around and glared at Nick. "You realize, if anyone knew you were forcing me to do this, it wouldn't do much to back up the claim that we're not fucking."

Nick, reclining comfortably on the sofa in a white t-shirt and green khakis, downed a gulp of his beer. "Too much talk, not enough changing. Go now and I won't take those blackmail pictures I was contemplating."

"Alright, point taken," said Greg, who hurried into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. It was a full twenty minutes before he finally agreed to put the thing on. It would have been even longer, if not for Nick's gentle coaxing and the promise that he'd been joking about the blackmail pictures.

"I'm not gonna laugh Greggo, I swear. You don't have to clean my apartment, just open the door and show me what it looks like, then you can take it off."

"If I didn't know better Nicky, I'd swear this was your idea. Why else would you be so eager... unless the thought of me wearing this gets you going." Suspiciously, there was no reply from Nick's side of the door. "It's true, isn't it? You were hard watching me come yesterday, and I bet you're hard right now."

"Cocky little fucker... get out here and see for yourself," Nick ordered.

Greg smiled, not even caring that the other CSI couldn't see it. "What happened to Mr. Nice Guy?"

"Well Sanders, you keep telling me how kinky I am, but there hasn't been a whole lot of evidence to back you up. I think it's about time I proved you right, don't you think?" Greg swallowed dryly. "Now stop teasing and get your ass out here."

A thrill of excitement ran up Greg's spine. "Yes, sir," he replied cheekily, and finally opened the door.

It was all of two seconds before a strong pair of hands grabbed Greg and slammed him up against the wall near the door. Nick's eyes raked over his form, from the frilly, low-cut collar exposing Greg's smooth, pale chest, to the crinkly petticoat-like skirt that ended halfway up the young man's thighs. Greg felt incredibly exposed under the predatory stare, but could already feel his cock stirring in his boxer briefs.

"How does it look?" Greg asked quietly, a rosy flush creeping over his cheeks. "As hot as you imagined?"

Nick leaned in close to Greg's ear. "Hotter," he whispered, his breath tickling the side of the younger man's neck. "I might not be able to help myself."

In a sudden and adrenaline-fuelled gesture, Greg reached between their bodies and grabbed Nick's hardness through his pants. "So don't," Greg challenged him, locking eyes with his stony-faced co-worker.

Nick reached up to twine a hand in Greg's hair, then yanked roughly, eliciting a sharp growl from the young man. His action also served to expose the long, elegant line of Greg's neck to his hungry eyes, which greedily drank in the sight.

"Alright Greggo, I'll give you what you want. But don't say I didn't warn you when you're lying on your back screaming my name."

Before Greg had the chance to even contemplate that scenario, let alone reply, Nick's mouth was on his, fierce and demanding. Greg melted into the kiss almost immediately, moaning into Nick's mouth when the Texan manhandled him over to the couch and straddled Greg's waist. Grinning, the young CSI bucked his hips, purposefully touching his groin to Nick's through their clothing.

What he didn't expect was the deep, husky moan that ripped itself from Nick's throat. It was the sexiest noise Greg had ever heard in his life—not surprisingly, it shot straight to his cock and made him desperate for more friction. Luckily for him, Nick must have been thinking the same thing. At that very moment, the older man pressed himself down against Greg and began grinding their hips together.

When the two men next locked stares, both had the dark, inky appearance of arousal in their eyes. Greg pressed their mouths together once more, taking the initiative this time to force his tongue past Nick's lips and get a taste of the other man. Up above, their tongues battled for dominance, while down below, their hips thrust against one another at a steadily increasing pace.

After a few moments, Nick broke the kiss, but continued the grinding of his hips. He stared down at Greg's flushed cheeks, unconsciously licking his lips. "What do you say we give Hodges something to be jealous about?" he suggested, glancing admiringly at the exposed skin of Greg's neck.

The young CSI was quick to catch on. "Hickeys?" he asked breathily. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see the look on his face if you did, but he's not the only one that would see them..."

"I think all the blood's gone to your dick, Greggo. No one's going to assume I gave them to you except Hodges."

Slowly, Greg smirked, bucking his hips up to increase the friction between them. "Alright then, you have my permission to ravish me."

Wasting no time at all, Nick ghosted his lips over Greg's collarbone, then stopped once he got a bit higher. When he bit down, Greg moaned and arched his back like a cat, wrapping his arms around Nick's shoulders to keep them pressed together.

"Jesus Nicky," he exclaimed once the man let go, "you didn't tell me you were a vampire." Nick stared down at him wearily. "Explains why you're on the graveyard shift, though."

To shut him up, Nick began thrusting against Greg even faster, and leaned down to capture his lips in another passionate kiss. By that point, the pleasure was building quickly for both parties—Greg in particular. He knew he wouldn't last much longer.

"_Fuck_, Nick." Greg's chest heaved with the intensity of his breathing. "I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, Greggo. I want you to come for me again."

That, and the frantic pace of their hips, was all the encouragement Greg needed. Nick held him through the convulsions of his orgasm, all the while with Greg cursing and moaning into the man's ear. That seemed to do it for Nick; he came shortly afterward, closing his eyes and burying his head into the crook of Greg's neck until the movement of their hips finally came to a stop and both men were spent.

"Holy shit..." said Greg. And that just about summed it up for both of them.

* * *

Over the next couple of days, much to Greg's satisfaction, he was assigned to a case with Sara instead of being stuck in the lab again. Everything was going well until it came time to process a particularly disgusting bathroom, which Sara, of course, let him do.

After a couple hours spent in there, all Greg wanted to do was head home and take a shower, but there was still more to process. He already had about a million samples to run over to trace once he got back to the lab, not to mention all the swabs for DNA. On the bright side, the case didn't look too tough to crack. Just one body—a middle-aged woman shot to death in her kitchen. Sara had already discovered the husband's extensive gun collection in the basement. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found.

"So you think he skipped town?" Greg asked as he and Sara headed back to the car. "The husband, I mean?"

"Looks like it. The empty closet sure seems indicative of someone leaving town. Though we won't know for certain until Vartann manages to track him down."

Greg nodded, hopping into the passenger's seat of the Denali. "I hope he does, because right now the husband is our only suspect."

"Lucky us," said Sara, firing up the engine and backing out of the driveway. "So, are you glad to be out of the lab today?"

"Are you kidding? Of course."

Sara tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, smiling to herself. "Makes sense," she agreed. "After all, it isn't very crowded at a closed crime scene. Less people to see that gigantic hickey on your neck."

Blushing, Greg slapped his hand over the area. With all the work they'd been doing, he'd totally forgotten about it. The last time he'd taken a peek at the hickey was before work, when it had just started to turn a dark purplish-red colour. It was probably even darker by now.

"Relax Greg, it's okay," Sara told him, directing a curious glance his way. "I just didn't know you were seeing someone."

"Well, I wouldn't really call it _seeing_—at least not in the traditional sense of the word," he explained, staring out the window at the passing houses. "More like an extended one night stand."

Sara changed lanes and took the ramp onto the highway. "I'd like to see the look on Hodges' face when he sees that," she mused, smirking.

Greg frowned at her. "So not funny." He leaned back in his seat, still mentally kicking himself for having missed the trace technician's crush on him.

"Do you like him?"

"Who, Hodges?" Greg asked, pulling a horror-struck expression.

"No, I meant your extended one night stand."

"Oh." Greg snapped his mouth shut, feeling stupid. That was something he often felt around the other CSI's, especially Sara. She seemed to think it was pretty funny. Greg didn't exactly agree. "Hey, wait a second," he stated, casting her a sidelong glance. "What makes you think it's a guy?"

Sara looked over at him, examining Greg's hickey as though it were evidence at a crime scene. "Well," she began, "the teeth marks looked male to me on first glance, and—no offence—but I know your luck with women isn't so great. It was an educated guess."

Greg wasn't offended. She was right, after all—women didn't go for him the way men did. Since college, Greg's experiences with women had been few and far between.

"Was I right?" Sara asked. Greg shot her a look that said _you always are_, and nodded. "Sorry for being nosy," she apologized, pulling off the highway. "I'm just glad to see you having fun with somebody."

"Thanks Sara." Greg really didn't mind her being a bit nosy. As long as she wasn't asking who gave it to him, Greg didn't see a problem. Hell, if it was a giant hickey on _her _neck instead of his, Greg probably would have been just as curious.

Later that night, once they'd arrived back at the lab, Greg and Sara found themselves in the morgue conferring with Dr. Robbins on the fate of their victim, Charlotte Pierce.

"Judging by the liver temp, TOD was about eight hours ago," he explained, "which puts it at roughly three p.m. As for COD, I know what you're thinking."

"Gunshot wound to the back of the head?" said Greg, as though it were obvious.

"Surprisingly, no." Sara and Greg cast the man twin looks of confusion. "The gunshot wound was post-mortem. Livor mortis had already set in by the time she was shot."

"Well that explains why there wasn't much blood spatter at the scene," said Sara, thinking aloud. "The purplish red discoloration is on the front of her body, which means she was lying face down when lividity began to set in."

Greg nodded, glancing down at the discoloration Sara mentioned. "At least it proves the body wasn't moved post-mortem. Seems like that kitchen is our primary crime scene."

"Official COD is asphyxia via smothering," Dr. Robbins continued. "Upon further investigation I found purple fibers in the vic's nose and at the back of her throat. I sent them over to trace."

"Thanks, Doc," Sara told him, heading out of the morgue with Greg in tow. Once they were out in the hallway, she turned back to him, looking puzzled. "If Charlotte Pierce was already lying dead on the kitchen floor, who would pull out a gun and shoot her?"

Greg contemplated this for a moment. "Someone trying to implicate her husband?" he suggested.

"Right," said Sara. "The bullet Doc Robbins extracted was a 9mm hollow point, which is consistent with several of the guns we collected from the house. We need to find out which, if any, was the gun that shot her. I'll run the guns over to Bobby so he can get started. You wait and see what Hodges turns up with those purple fibers."

"Yes ma'am," Greg replied, watching Sara head off down the hall toward the ballistics lab.

It was only a few minutes before Hodges paged him. Greg had been right in the middle of pouring himself a coffee, the smell of which was deliciously inviting, but grudgingly, he abandoned the break room.

"This better be good," the young CSI grumbled, stepping into the trace lab. "I'm missing out on a much-needed coffee for this."

The man that had paged him was bent over a microscope, staring at a slide with a tiny purple fiber on it. It appeared as though he was completely oblivious to Greg's presence until suddenly he straightened up and grabbed a sheet of paper off the printer. Not even looking at Greg, Hodges extended the piece of paper toward him.

Frowning, Greg snatched the paper out of the man's hands and looked it over. "Fleece?" he inquired. "The fibers in her throat and nose were fleece?"

Hodges heaved a loud, exaggerated sigh, leaning back down to look through the microscope again. "Yes Sanders," he stated irritably, "fleece. Thick fleece. Probably from a blanket or a sweater."

Greg continued to stare at the sheet of paper in his hands, trying to remember if he'd seen anything made of purple fleece at the crime scene. If he recalled correctly, there had been _something_ purple draped over a chair in the bedroom, but whether it was fleece or not, he didn't know.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Hodges snapped, finally deciding to look up at Greg. "Or are you just going to—" His sentence dropped off when his eyes zeroed in on the unmistakable hickey on Greg's neck. In a split-second, the man's expression changed from shock to elation.

"Am I just going to _what_?" Greg asked. "Stand around? Because in case you hadn't noticed, I was reading." He held up the sheet in his hands.

Hodges gestured to the hickey. "Going to tell me you burnt yourself with a curling iron?" he teased, sounding far too pleased with himself. "I wonder if Stokes has one too. That would sure be awkward to explain."

Suddenly, an idea popped into Greg's mind. Maybe the thing to do in this situation wasn't to deny his relations with Nick, but rather, hint at them just enough to make Hodges sweat. _God, _Greg thought to himself, _I am a tease._

"Well _I_ definitely didn't give him one, but I can't speak for anyone else," Greg told the trace technician. "Though I'm sure there are lots of people who'd like to do the honours. He's a very attractive man, don't you think?"

That certainly caught Hodges off-guard. "That sounds like an admittance of guilt," the man spluttered, wide-eyed.

"What would that make me guilty of, exactly? Having eyes?" Greg retorted. When his phone started vibrating in his pocket, all Greg granted Hodges was a disapproving look before turning around. "Thanks for the report," he said over his shoulder.

It only took Greg a few minutes to get over to the ballistics lab.

"You said you found the weapon?" he asked Sara. She and Bobby were standing in front of a large table, on top of which lay all of Mr. Price's guns in his home collection.

"Yep," said Bobby, smiling proudly. "It was easy to narrow it down to the most likely suspects. Just a lucky break that the Beretta M9 was the second one I tried."

"So you're sure the Beretta is the gun that shot Charlotte Pierce?" Greg asked.

Bobby nodded. "Definitely. The striation patterns are the same." He gestured to the computer on his desk. On the screen was a close-up image of the two bullets side by side, displaying that their markings were indeed identical. Greg couldn't help but think to himself: _wow, that was easy._

Gingerly, Sara picked up the gun and placed it back inside the evidence bag. "I'd better dust this for prints then." Looking over at Greg, she asked, "Did Hodges give you his results yet?"

Greg explained the man's findings to her—he summed up that the fibers were fleece, and repeated what Hodges told him about their possible origins. In particular, Sara seemed strangely intrigued by the last bit of information.

"What is it?" Greg asked, thinking something was wrong. "Did we miss something?"

"No, it's just... I think I remember seeing something purple back at the crime scene," Sara told him.

"In the bedroom, draped over a chair?"

"Yes, exactly!" she exclaimed, looking impressed. "Nice work, Greg. We'd better get back there and check it out."

"If you want to stay here and print the gun, I can go," Greg offered. The way he saw it, the more they could do at once, the better. If Greg could find the murder weapon, especially on his own—well, it certainly couldn't hurt his fledgling career.

Sara probably realized by now that Greg was dying for some measure of independence on a case, but it wasn't protocol for a CSI Level One to process a scene alone. Going back for more evidence, however, wasn't technically prohibited. Greg was hoping Sara would trust him enough not to mess anything up.

For a moment, all Sara did was stare at him, a probing look in her eyes. "Are you sure?" she finally asked. Greg was—he nodded very seriously. "Okay. But promise you'll call me the second you find anything."

"Will do," Greg replied, heading out of the ballistics lab with a happy spring in his step.


	3. sAINT

When Greg finally got home early in the morning after his shift, he immediately collapsed onto his sofa and fell asleep. He'd been so exhausted he completely forgot Nick was supposed to come over, until there was a knock on his door shortly after nine.

Grumbling, Greg hauled himself off the couch and practically sleepwalked over to the door. When he swung it open, he squinted against the brightness of the hallway lights.

"You look like hell," said Nick, eyes raking over the younger man.

That was probably true. "Hey," said Greg, "this is kinda like déjà vu, isn't it? Are you going to get me drunk and molest me again?" He batted his eyes innocently.

Playfully, Nick captured the young CSI into a swift headlock, pushing them both into the apartment and kicking the door closed behind them. "If I recall, you molested yourself Greggo," he said. "Not that I didn't enjoy it, mind you." Then, with no apparent provocation at all, Nick proceeded to give Greg the most intense noogie of his life. A moment later, Greg came up from the chokehold looking as though he'd been electrocuted.

"Well, I'm wide awake now," Greg said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He watched Nick sit down on one of the stools behind the small breakfast bar. "You're certainly in a good mood," the young man commented, heading over to the fridge. He snatched a bottle of water off the door and cracked open the lid.

"Warrick and I just got through with a _major_ case. Let me just say that I won't be sad to see the end of that mess," he vented, looking even more relieved than he sounded.

Greg nodded, gulping back a mouthful of water. "The dead lawyer in the park, right?"

"Yeah. I'm just glad it's over with." Nick tilted his head to the side, staring at Greg. "So how about you? How's your case?"

Setting down his water bottle, Greg delved into that day's events, telling Nick all about he and Sara's findings thus far.

"So after we found out it was fleece, I went back to the house to try and find whatever she was smothered with. Turns out it was one of those stupid Snuggie things—you know, the blankets with the sleeves? The killer just left it laying there in the bedroom."

"No kidding," said Nick, resting his arms on the counter.

"I was able to pull a couple hairs off of it, and even a bit of saliva. They may all be the vic's, but I guess we'll find out soon enough." Greg was about to ask Nick if he wanted to order breakfast when he suddenly remembered something and frowned. "You know, I had to face Hodges today with this ridiculous thing on my neck," he stated, pointing at his hickey. "His reaction was so far off from what I expected. He seemed almost happy—like it was visible proof of what he thinks he knows, but no one else will believe."

Nick shrugged. "Pretty ironic that he's been right this whole time, isn't it? I probably owe the guy a bit more credit, actually."

"Wait, what do you mean he's been right? He thinks we're fucking."

"And aren't we?" Nick challenged, crooking an eyebrow. "If he means in the literal sense then I guess he'd be wrong, but just because two people haven't had intercourse doesn't mean they're not lovers."

Greg could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He had to be dreaming—maybe he was still asleep on his couch. That made more sense to him than what he'd just heard Nick say. Then again, Greg didn't want to be dreaming. Just because he was terrified didn't mean he was disappointed.

"Lovers, eh?" He offered Nick a playful wink. "Sounds much classier than fuck-buddy or friend with benefits, I'll give you that much."

Nick laughed, pulling Greg in across the bar for a soft kiss. "Never liked fuck-buddy anyway. It sounds like two people that have no feelings for one another—that just fuck for sex and nothing else," he said disdainfully.

Wryly, Greg thought to himself: _well I'll be damned, he really is old-fashioned. _

"I want you to know that this means more to me than that," Nick continued, casting a sincere look Greg's way. The young CSI could see it in Nick's eyes that the man was telling the truth. It made Greg feel light-headed.

Taking a deep breath, he replied, "That goes for me too, Nicky."

* * *

"Good news. The husband's back."

Greg stopped dead in his tracks, nearly spilling coffee all over both of them. He stared at Sara in disbelief. "You're kidding—where the hell was he?"

"Florida. On a business trip, apparently. Vartann looked into it and it checks out. We had no choice but to release him," Sara explained. "Though before he left I got his prints, a DNA sample, and had the chance to ask him about the purple Snuggie you found in the bedroom. He said it was Charlotte's, so that gets us nowhere."

Just then, both Sara and Greg's phones went off. Greg's was a page from Mia asking for him in the DNA lab right away. "Is that Mia?" Greg asked, gesturing to Sara's phone.

"Yep. She must have something on those hairs. Let's go."

The young CSI followed Sara down the hallway toward the DNA lab, where Mia was standing in front of the printer waiting for them.

"I think you'll be pleased with this," she told them, handing Sara a sheet of paper hot from the printer. "The saliva and several of the hairs on the blanket came back as a match to your vic."

"Makes sense if she owned it like the husband says—and the saliva is consistent with her being smothered," said Greg, thinking aloud.

"That's not even the best part," Mia continued. "One of the hairs didn't match either the victim or the husband. I ran it through CODIS and got a hit for a Silvia Tedesco. Did one year in a low-security women's facility for theft under five thousand, and was released six months ago."

Greg ran a hand over his hair, deep in thought. "How did another woman's hair get on the murder weapon?"

"Well, that's what we have to find out." Sara turned back to Mia, who had just taken a seat in front of her computer. "Is there a current address listed for her?"

Mia shook her head. "Unfortunately, I couldn't find one in either the criminal database or her DMV records. Looks like you guys are going on another manhunt."

"More like a womanhunt this time," Greg chimed in, half-serious. He was still thoroughly puzzled by the fact that the unknown hair had produced a female suspect. What could her relation to the victim be?

A few minutes later, he and Sara had made their way over to the print lab to check on how things were doing. Sara's dusting of the Beretta M9 had yielded three different sets of prints. As with the hairs, two were immediately ruled out—one being the husband's, the other belonging to the victim—and the third was still running through AFIS.

"Who do you suppose Silvia Tedesco is to the victim?" Greg asked casually while they were waiting. "Friend, lover ...cleaning lady?"

"Hard to say based on a single hair on the vic's blanket. There are just too many possible ways it could have gotten there. The only way we'll know who she is for sure is if we can get her address."

"Wait a second..." Greg began slowly. "If Silvia was someone important in Charlotte Pierce's life, wouldn't the husband know her? He might be able to give us an address."

Sara's eyes shone with possibility. "Good thinking, Greg. I'll get Vartann to bring him back in." Just as Sara was reaching for her cell phone, the computer in the room began beeping like an alarm clock. Sara hurried over to check the results of the fingerprint scan.

"Anything?" Greg asked curiously.

"Whoever else handled that gun—their prints aren't in AFIS. It's still an unknown," she told him, staring at the computer screen dejectedly.

Greg slumped in his chair. Well there went the wind from their sails—just when it seemed like they might actually be getting somewhere too. He glanced over at Sara. "Did you check to see if Silvia Tedesco's prints are on file anywhere?"

"I was just about to, actually." The sound of rapid typing filled the room. "Nope, it doesn't look like it," she replied a few moments later.

"If we could get Silvia's prints and match them to the unknown on that gun... it'd be enough for a search warrant. Maybe even a conviction."

Turning around, Sara cast him a very mature look that made Greg swallow nervously. "You're getting ahead of the evidence, Greg," she warned him. "While it's true that whoever these prints belong to shot Charlotte Pierce—I found partials on both the trigger and the grip of the gun—they may not even belong to Silvia Tedesco. Even if they did, we'd still need motive. Keep that in mind."

"Right. Sorry," said Greg, feeling stupid. How was it that he always managed to highlight his inexperience in front of the other CSI's?

"No harm done." Sara flashed him a reassuring smile. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, even Grissom was in the same boat as you once."

Greg gaped at her in surprise. Really—he should anticipate by now that Sara always seemed to know what he was thinking. "I don't know," he began skeptically, "I'm not sure I can picture Grissom as a trainee. I just assumed he always knew what he was doing."

"I think Grissom may have been a bad example," said Sara, laughing.

"Funny, I've always thought of myself as the opposite."

Both Sara and Greg turned around to find their supervisor, Gil Grissom, standing in the doorway in full suit and tie.

"How was court?" Sara inquired.

"Oh, the usual. Full of lawyers and various other reptiles."

Greg cracked a grin. That was Grissom alright—not a day went by without some kind of animal metaphor. Greg was really beginning to enjoy them. They always managed to add a little something extra to his day.

"How is the case coming along?" Grissom asked, fiddling with his tie.

"Making progress. We have a new suspect whose address we're trying to track down." Sara glanced sidelong at Greg. "Not only that, but Greg has been doing a great job. He found our murder weapon."

There was a smile in Grissom's eyes that made Greg feel extremely proud of himself. "Well I'm very glad to hear that. Keep up the good work you two." Promptly, he turned around and headed off down the hallway, still fiddling with his tie.

"You didn't have to say that, you know," Greg said, shooting an appreciative gaze Sara's way.

"Maybe not," she replied with a shrug, "but I wanted to." She smiled warmly at Greg. "Now let's get the husband back in here and see what he knows about Silvia Tedesco."

* * *

Greg was suddenly jolted awake by the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Greg began to sit up and glanced at his surroundings. He was in Nick's living room—wait, when had he fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered they'd been watching a movie...

Still, that wasn't the most bizarre thing to think about. The dream Greg had just woken up from weighed heavily on his mind.

"Oh hey, you're awake," came Nick's voice from the kitchen. "I just ordered a pizza. I hope mushrooms and green peppers are okay."

"You're not going to believe what I just dreamt," Greg stated, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. "It's about Hodges of all people."

Nick poked his head into the living room, crooking an eyebrow. "Let me guess—you had a sex dream about him?"

Greg paled. "Well... yeah," he stammered. "How'd you know?"

"Because _I _had a sex dream about him too," Nick replied, far too casually for Greg's liking. The young CSI immediately rose from the couch and hurried into the kitchen, staring at Nick as though he'd suddenly grown another head.

"You're kidding!" Greg said in disbelief. "What happened in yours?"

Nick smiled as though recalling a particularly pleasant memory. "You invited him over to your apartment one day—he shows up and finds me there with you. Instead of walking out the door like he probably should, he decides to stay, and the two of us end up having our wicked way with him."

Greg surprised himself by finding that thought quite intriguing. The notion of Hodges as a sexual being was something that had never even crossed his mind until now. Was it just a strange coincidence that he and Nick had both dreamt about the man? Greg couldn't deny that he'd found the retelling of Nick's dream rather... exhilarating.

"What exactly does our _wicked way_ entail?" Greg asked, slithering up to the brawny Texan and pinning him gently against the counter.

Nick chuckled throatily. "I should have known that story would put you in the mood." He reached up to twine his fingers in the soft hairs at the base of Greg's scalp. "Let's just say that handcuffs were involved."

"Mmm," Greg groaned, resting his forehead against Nick's. "I like the sound of that." Roughly, he seized the other man's lips in a demanding kiss. Nick moaned into his mouth—a raw, needy sound that Greg yearned to hear more of. "Well," Greg championed, his hand resting on Nick's fly, "look who else got hard from that dream. Maybe I should do something about this little problem. What do you say, Nicky?"

The Texan nodded slowly. Smirking, Greg dropped down to his knees and unbuttoned Nick's khakis, letting them drop to the floor at his feet. The look of anticipation on the other CSI's face was almost satisfaction enough for Greg—of course, that didn't mean he was stopping there. He was going to give Nick what he wanted, and do a damn good job of it.

When Greg freed Nick from the confines of his boxers, he wasn't prepared for the realization that followed. Despite their being lovers for a few weeks now, Greg had never actually seen the man's penis. He'd felt it up on several occasions, but had never laid eyes upon the actual flesh—the sight of which he was now mesmerized by. When, after a loaded pause, he suckled the tip into his mouth experimentally, Nick groaned and braced himself against the counter.

"Oh fuck," he exclaimed, his voice hitching when Greg took him deeper. His knuckles had gone white from gripping the counter so hard.

Soon, when Greg's head began slowly bobbing up and down, a string of delicious moans escaped Nick's lips. The noises were making Greg painfully hard himself—he wanted nothing more than to reach between his legs and give himself release, but he didn't. This wasn't about him, it was about Nick.

Just as Greg had been thinking that thought, he felt Nick's hands in his hair, pulling him off. The young man stared up at his lover questioningly.

"Take off your shirt," Nick ordered.

Licking his lips, Greg did as he was told, pulling his green t-shirt up and over his head. Again, he gazed up at Nick. The man's eyes raked over his smooth, pale chest. Greg's skin tingled as if it could somehow feel the man's stare.

"Now the rest," Nick continued. "I want you naked as the day you were born, Sanders."

A grin spread across Greg's face. He could work with that. Slowly, he began the process of stripping himself naked under Nick's ravenous eye. Once Greg rose to his feet, the first thing to go were his socks, then his jeans—until all he was left with were his boxers. When he went to remove those also, he hesitated—not out of nervousness, and certainly not out of modesty—but rather, just to tease the other man.

Nick's patience was not infinite, however. "Off. Now," he commanded, gesturing to the lone article of clothing that separated Greg from complete exposure. Nick's cock, glistening from Greg's saliva, still stood upright against his belly. Greg eyed it greedily, longing for it back in his mouth.

Consequently, he relented his ill-considered standoff. He stripped off his boxers and held his hands out widely as if to say: _this is me, in all my glory._

"Perfect," said Nick, so quietly it was almost a whisper. Before Greg had the chance to respond, he was pulled into one of the most intense kisses of his life. Nick was all over him—his tongue dancing with Greg's, nibbling his lower lip, trailing kisses down his neck. It felt so good that Greg never wanted it to end. But when they finally broke apart, Greg dropped to his knees happily and picked up where he left off.

If possible, the Texan seemed even harder than before. When Greg felt him pulse against his tongue, he almost came right then and there.

"Greg," Nick moaned, his face contorted in pleasure. "_Fuck_, I'm close."

Not long after Nick spoke those words, Greg's mouth was suddenly full with thick pulses of come. He swallowed what he could, but some still managed to trickle past his lips and onto the floor.

A few moments later, he released Nick's cock and licked it clean, resting back on his heels like an obedient puppy dog when he was finished.

"I still have some under my tongue if you want a taste," said Greg, his voice thick with arousal. Greg wasn't sure if Nick would take him up on that offer, but lo and behold, the man helped Greg up to his feet and pressed their lips together.

"Bedroom," breathed Nick as soon as they broke apart. "I'm not finished with you yet."

Greg beamed. "I hope not." He led the way to Nick's bedroom, flopping face-up on the large mattress. Stripping off the remainder of his own clothing, Nick soon joined him, crawling atop Greg with a feral look in his eyes. Amazingly, he was just beginning to get hard again. "Can't get enough of me?" Greg joked, letting his gaze linger on Nick's cock.

"I'm starting to think it might never be possible to get enough of you," Nick told him, straddling Greg's thighs.

"Ditto." Greg ran a hand up Nick's chest, letting his fingers trail over smooth stomach muscle. When he reached one of the man's nipples, he gave it a playful tweak. "Nicky?" he said tentatively.

"What is it, Greggo?"

Greg had never quite learned the art of subtlety, so he decided to simple come right out with it. "I want..." he began, locking eyes with Nick, "I want you to fuck me. Real intercourse. I want to feel you inside me."

Nick appeared thunderstruck. He leaned down so that the two of them were almost nose to nose. "Are y-you sure, G?"

Greg pressed a soft kiss to the Texan's lips. "Yes. I want you, please!" He bucked his hips, showcasing the straining erection resting against his belly. "Fuck me Nicky..."

That, apparently, was all the motivation Nick needed. He reached into his nightstand and fished out a condom. "I want you to be sure," he told Greg, ripping open the wrapper and casting it aside.

"I am!" Greg assured him. "Please—!"

Just then, the sound of knocking pulled both men out of the moment.

"Great," said Nick, springing from the bed in irritation. Greg frowned, watching the other CSI throw on a robe. "That'll be the pizza guy. Perfect timing."

Greg let his head flop back onto the mattress as Nick hurried out of the room. He couldn't believe their luck—at this rate Greg would soon be suffering from a very painful case of blue balls.

A few minutes later, when the voices from the living room could no longer be heard, Greg caught the sound of the apartment door closing. He called out, "Nicky, you better get back here right now." It was barely a few seconds before he got his wish.

Throwing off his robe, Nick crawled back into the bed. Greg spread his legs wantonly in invitation, hoping it would incite Nick to stop hesitating.

"I'm not doing this without at least preparing you first," Nick told him. He pressed his index and middle fingers against Greg's lips. "Open up."

Greg conceded, allowing Nick to slip the digits into his mouth. Once the fingers were slick with saliva, Nick brought them down to Greg's entrance and slowly inserted one.

It was at that moment that Greg became acutely aware of how long it had been since he'd last done this. When Nick worked his way up to two, and eventually three fingers, the pain became much more difficult to ignore. Still, Greg was determined to overcome it—he wanted this too much.

Gradually, he became more and more accustomed to the feel of the three fingers inside him. When the tension finally seemed to drain out of his body, he knew he was ready.

"Nick, please!" Greg begged the man, shamelessly bucking his hips. The need in Greg's voice was almost painful. Nick heard it for what it was and finally made up his mind. He reached for the opened condom from earlier and hurried to put it on.

When he positioned himself between Greg's spread legs, the young man's breathing seemed to quicken in anticipation.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this, Greggo," Nick revealed. Slowly, he pushed past the thick ring of muscle at Greg's entrance. Both men moaned loudly when the tip of his penis was fully inside. "Ever since I first saw you in the lab, it's been torture watching you work. All I wanted to do was bend you over your desk and fuck you like this."

These revelations were certainly new to Greg. Even with less than half of his cognitive processes functioning, he still had it in him to be shocked. In between shallow breaths, he asked, "What took you so long to act on it?"

Nick slid in further, making Greg clutch the sheets at his sides. "Fear, I guess? Respect for the working environment? I don't know. They were all bullshit excuses," Nick stated, a twinge of frustration lurking beneath his cool exterior. "I'm just glad I stopped letting them get in the way."

"Me too," said Greg. He looked up at Nick with bright eyes, hoping the Texan would hear the sincerity in his voice. "You're not the only one that wanted this..."

Nick smiled in acknowledgement. Slowly, he thrust in the remainder of the way, not stopping until he was fully buried inside Greg. It was such an intense feeling for both parties that Nick chose to remain there for a while, savouring the feeling of being as deep inside Greg as he could possibly be.

_This feels right_, a voice in the back of Greg's mind told him. _Not just physically, either. All my past experiences with men have been purely about sex, but this is different. I've never felt connected like this..._

"Greggo, look at me," Nick coaxed, gradually starting to move inside his lover. When their eyes met, Nick began a series of deep, unhurried thrusts that slowly brought the animal within Greg to the surface. When Nick perfected his angle just enough to nudge Greg's prostate, the young CSI arched off the bed and cried out hoarsely. Nick took the opportunity to run his calloused fingertips over Greg's chest, letting them linger on each spot where a rib was visible through the young man's pale skin.

Greg's reaction to the touches was interesting—he let his chest fall back to the mattress, effectively squirming away from the scrutiny, and bucked his hips as though to distract Nick. Next, he raised his hands above his head and grappled for purchase on the headboard, all the while moaning, "Harder, Nicky..."

_Clever_, Nick thought to himself. Still, he couldn't deny wanting to fill Greg's request. When he picked up his pace, he was rewarded with the deeply arousing sight of Greg writhing beneath him. The feel of his already tight channel walls contracting around Nick's cock sent the Texan into overdrive. When he leaned down, Greg brought his face up to meet Nick's eagerly. The kiss they shared was hungry, possessive, erotic—Nick punctuated it by wrapping his hand around Greg's aching cock and bringing him off in a handful of rough strokes.

With Nick still tweaking that sensitive spot inside of Greg that made him lose all control, it was no surprise that he'd been teetering on the edge. The sound Greg made as he exploded over his stomach and chest was half guttural moan, half sigh. The sight of him afterward, exhausted and covered in his own come, was almost too much stimulation for Nick to handle.

Panting heavily, Greg leaned up and sucked one of Nick's nipples into his mouth. "Come on Nicky, I want to feel you come inside me," he whispered, his tongue lapping at the hardened pink nub.

"I love it when you talk dirty," said Nick, reaching down to grab Greg's chin. "Maybe I should come in that filthy little mouth of yours."

"Been there, done that," Greg replied, eyes dark. The forceful grip on his chin was really turning him on. He liked it when Nick was rough with him—it made his body ache with needs that he wasn't even consciously aware of. "Come inside me Nicky, I know you want to."

Sharply, Nick turned the young man's face to the side and brought his lips right down to Greg's ear. "Little slut... is that what you want?" he whispered, still thrusting into him deeply.

"Yessss," Greg hissed, "fucking do it!"

Nick was right on the edge, he could feel it. With their increasing frequency, his thrusts lost their normal rhythm, which Nick replaced by driving into Greg with total abandon. Greg was moaning like a dying man, which Nick soon joined him in. When the Texan's release finally came, it was marked by a low growl and the shuddering of his body as his orgasm took hold. Greg stared up at the man in awe as Nick's thrusts slowed and gradually came to a stop.

Greg finally let go of the headboard. There were dark red impressions on his palms from where he'd been gripping it so hard. Leisurely, he reached up to cup Nick's cheek, letting his fingers trace tenderly over the man's skin. "I could ask you for anything in bed and you'd do it, wouldn't you?" Greg posed.

Nick decided to answer honestly. "Probably," he said.

Greg smirked at him. "Stop being so amazing. You're making me look bad."

Slowly, Nick pulled out of his lover. "Me? You're the one who does anything and everything I say in bed. Isn't that right Greggo?" He cast the young CSI a knowing grin, but Greg merely rolled his eyes. "No? Well I bet if I told you to flip over and let me fuck you right now you'd do it."

Greg sat up slightly, resting on his elbows. "So you really do think I'm a slut."

Nick's light-hearted demeanour vanished right away. "No, of course not," he said sternly. "Greg, I was joking about that. It was just me talking dirty, I didn't mean to imply—"

"I know," the young man interjected. "I just wanted to see if you'd be able to talk your way out of that one." Outwardly, Nick rolled his eyes, but secretly a wave of relief washed over him. "And in case you hadn't noticed," Greg continued, "I nearly jizzed all over myself—_again_—when you said it." He made a grand, sweeping gesture down at his groin, where once again, his penis stood at attention.

Nick stared down at it in disbelief. "Jesus Greg, is there ever a time when you're not hard?"

"Not with you around."

Chuckling, Nick shook his head. Disposing of their used condom, he flopped down on the bed beside Greg and pulled the covers up over both of them.

"This is good, don't you think?" the Texan asked. Greg cast him a puzzled look, prompting Nick to clarify, "The two of us, I mean."

"I'm starting to think it's perfect, actually," Greg explained, rolling onto his side to stare at the other man. "You understand my job, the weird hours I work, and you aren't scared off by my kinks either. I've never had that before."

Every day Nick had seen more and more of what lay behind Greg's stylish, wacky-haired exterior—it had been an adventure from day one—but this was him opening up on another level completely. Touched by his lover's sincerity, Nick brought a hand to Greg's face and brushed away a few errant strands of hair from his forehead. The truth was that Nick really cared for this crazy kid.

"Like, for example," Greg continued, unaware of the thoughts running through Nick's mind, "I can tell you I'm into dog collars, or spanking, or even breathplay, and it doesn't send you running in the other direction. That's pretty cool."

"Breathplay?"

The dismayed look on Nick's face made Greg laugh. "Well, you're still not running away, so that's a good sign."


	4. So Sudden and Sweet

The next night at the lab, Liam Price, their vicitm's husband, had been brought in by Vartann for follow-up questioning. He was a short, portly man with light hair—in Greg's mind, he hardly looked capable of firing a gun, let alone owning an entire collection of them. _Shows how good I am at reading people_, Greg chided himself.

"Mr. Price," Sara began, "do you know a woman named Silvia Tedesco?"

The man's face immediately went cold. His reaction came as a surprise to all three of them. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Silvia and Charlotte grew up together, back in Vermont. They were best friends."

"Seems like an odd reaction to have if she was your wife's best friend," said Vartann, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not fond of her?"

Liam glanced over at Vartann. "I've always been shy, but my wife understood that. Charlotte was a popular person. For her sake, I tried to get along with all of her friends—even the ones that weren't the greatest people. They were always polite to me. But Silvia... she was the one exception."

"And why is that?" Sara asked.

"It took me a long time to figure it out. Ever since I met Charlotte in college, Silvia seemed to hate me. From the start, she set out to sabotage the two of us. I thought maybe she couldn't handle the fact that Charlotte now had to divide her time, but it went deeper than that. A couple months ago I found out they were lovers."

Greg leaned back in his chair. "So Silvia had been jealous of you all along?"

Mr. Price nodded. "It turns out they'd been lovers since high school. All in secret, of course. When I confronted Charlotte about what I knew, she broke down and apologized, saying that she'd been meaning to break it off with Silvia for years but didn't know how to do it without destroying their friendship. Before I left for Florida a few weeks ago, she promised me that she would end it with Silvia while I was gone. That was the last time I spoke to my wife..."

"Do you have Silvia's address, by any chance?" Sara asked. "We'll need to speak with her."

Liam nodded and recited the address for Vartann to jot down. "I haven't slept a wink since Charlotte died," Mr. Price said, tears pooling in his eyes. "I keep thinking to myself that maybe if I'd been home, I could have saved her." He choked back a sob, wiping away his tears with the back of his sleeve. "Do you think it was Silvia that did this?"

"We can't say for sure," Greg told him. "But if we discover anything, we'll be in touch with you."

Sadly, Mr. Price nodded and allowed Vartann to escort him out. Once the two of them were gone, Greg exhaled the breath he'd been holding.

"Wow," he said, turning to Sara. "So what do you think? Charlotte tries to break things off, but Silvia can't let go? That would give us motive."

"It's possible. It would explain how her hair got on the murder weapon." Sara rose from her chair, pacing toward the one-way glass on the other side of the room. "Looks like we're making a house call."

Half an hour later, Sara, Greg and Vartann pulled up outside 187 Balsa St, a small bungalow next door to a busy animal adoption clinic. They rang the doorbell and waited a few minutes. Just when they were sure no one was home, the door opened to reveal a tall, dark-haired woman in a bathrobe.

"May I help you?" she asked, staring skeptically at the people on her porch.

"Ms. Tedesco?" She nodded. "I'm Sara Sidle, and this is Greg Sanders. We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. And this is Detective Vartann, LVPD."

"What's this about?"

"We're investigating the death of Charlotte Pierce," Sara explained. "She was your friend, wasn't she?"

Silvia straightened up, a highly distrustful look on her face. "Yes, she was. We'd known each other since we were children."

"The way we hear it, you were more than just friends," said Vartann. "Her death must have been quite a blow."

Silvia's face turned a delicate shade of pink. "That is none of your business," she snapped. "You have no right—"

"Actually, it is our business," Greg cut in, earning him an incredulous stare from their suspect. "Someone murdered Charlotte Pierce, and we think they were attempting to frame her husband."

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Vartann added.

The woman's face had now gone from pink to beet red. She crossed her arms over her chest angrily. "No, I wouldn't," she retorted.

Vartann smiled. "Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind telling us where you were on the afternoon of May eleventh."

Silvia cast Vartann a very irritated look. "I was here, at home all day. I work over in the strip mall just off the highway—I always get Tuesdays off."

"Can anyone vouch for you?"

"Charlotte could, if she was still alive. I called her just before noon and we talked for a while."

"That's it?" Vartann asked. "You didn't see or talk to anyone else that day?"

"Like I said, I was home by myself. I stayed in and watched TV."

_That's a pretty shaky alibi_, Greg thought to himself. It seemed pretty clear, however, that they weren't going to get much else out of her.

"Ma'am, you're going to need to come with us," Vartann told her. Not surprisingly, she wasn't too thrilled about that development, but after Sara reassured her that all they were going to do was ask more questions, she reluctantly agreed.

* * *

"Would you like to explain to us how one of your hairs ended up on the blanket that was used to smother Charlotte Pierce?" Sara asked, placing a picture of the purple blanket on the table in front of Silvia.

They were back at the lab now, in one of the interview rooms. Grissom was on the other side of the one-way glass observing their progress.

"It was a birthday gift for her a few months ago. The hair could have gotten there when I was wrapping it," she explained. "The store I work at sells a bunch of 'As Seen on TV' products. That's where I bought it."

"You're sure it didn't get there when you were smothering her?" Sara probed.

Silvia slammed her palms down on the table. "I didn't smother her, goddammit! What reason would I have to kill Charlotte?"

"She tried to break things off," Sara began, "but that didn't go over too well with you, did it? After being lovers for nearly twenty-five years, you didn't expect her to choose Liam over you. But she did. And you weren't quite prepared for how angry that made you."

"It's not like that—"

"Maybe you didn't intend to kill her," Sara continued. "After all, you thought the two of you would just be having fun while Liam was in Florida. But when Charlotte told you it was over, you snapped. You grabbed whatever was close by, which happened to be the Snuggie you bought her, and you smothered her with it. Afterward, you realized what you'd done. You couldn't have the murder traced back to you, so you grabbed one of Liam's guns and shot her in the head, knowing we would suspect him first."

Throughout Sara's speech, Silvia's hands had begun to tremble. She blinked back tears. "It wasn't like that. Charlotte loved me!" she yelled, staring angrily at Sara. "On her birthday a few months ago, Charlotte told me that she couldn't live without me. She asked me to marry her for god's sake! We were planning to move back to Vermont, back to the neighbourhood we grew up in, so we could marry legally! The only problem was..."

"Liam," Greg filled in.

Silvia nodded. "Charlotte didn't know how to separate from him. A divorce would devastate Liam, and she was too kind-hearted to see that happen." A thoughtful look came over the dark-haired woman's face. "Charlotte knew, deep down, that our love was far greater than anything she and Liam ever shared. For years, she refused to accept who she was—their marriage was her desperate attempt to be straight."

"Funny," Sara said dryly. "Liam told us the opposite. According to him, Charlotte promised she would break up with you."

"What?" Silvia asked, disbelief in her tone. "That can't be. Why would she buy me this ring if she was planning to end things between us?" She held up one of her hands for everyone in the room to see. On her ring finger sparkled a magnificent diamond engagement ring.

Greg glanced over at Sara, who was still staring at the ring. This was a major stick in their spokes. If both Liam and Silvia were telling the truth, then that meant Charlotte had lied to one, or possibly both of them. _If only the dead could talk_, Greg thought wistfully.

"I loved Charlotte. She would never lie to me," Silvia stated. "She must have told Liam that story so he wouldn't go and hang himself while he was on his trip. I mean, Charlotte was that poor man's entire life. Having his suicide on her conscience would have destroyed her."

"When was the last time you saw her alive?" Vartann asked.

"The day before she died, we went out for a fancy dinner at the Luxor to celebrate the two-month anniversary of our engagement. The next day, as I said before, I talked to her on the phone around noon, but I didn't see her in person. She said she had to work that night."

Vartann scribbled this down on a notepad. "Where did Mrs. Pierce work?"

"The Eldorado Casino on Water Street. She was a line cook."

"Greg," said Sara, "can I talk to you outside for a minute?" Greg nodded and followed his colleague out into the hallway, away from their suspect's ears.

Greg's mind was still reeling from all the information they'd just taken in. It was a lot to process at once, especially when trying to discern what was true and what wasn't. "Thoughts?" he asked Sara.

"Just a theory so far."

"Feel like sharing with the rest of the class?"

Sara stuck her hands in her pockets, staring through the small window in the door. "I think that Charlotte Pierce was greedy. She wanted it all—both Silvia and Liam. She wasn't willing to trade one for the other."

"So she lies to them both?" Greg asked, puzzled. "To what end? Just to keep them under her thumb? Eventually they'd find out she was lying... and that still doesn't tell us who killed her." Greg paused, just as a thought suddenly came to him. "Wait a second. Maybe we've been looking at this backwards," he said. "We thought Silvia killed Charlotte for breaking up with her—but what if she found out that Charlotte wasn't making any effort to divorce Liam? Maybe what Silvia believed was a loveless marriage wasn't so loveless after all."

Sara thumped Greg on the back. "Nice one. Let's see if she takes the bait."

An hour later they were back in the interview room, starting in on Silvia once more.

"We dug up your phone records," Greg told her, "and it's true that you called Charlotte's house around noon on the day of her death. However, you lied about something else. Charlotte wasn't scheduled to work that night, according to her boss. As two people in love, why would you both choose to stay home alone instead of getting together? Not only that, but Liam was in Florida, which meant you didn't have to sneak around." He smiled triumphantly. "I'll take a wild guess and say that you weren't at home watching TV."

"I already told you I _was_," Silvia protested. "You can't prove I was there."

"Oh, but we can. In rustling up your phone records, we also got the Pierce's," Sara explained. "There was one call made from the Pierce's house to your mother in Vermont, just after three o'clock. That puts you at the house when Charlotte died."

"Oh and by the way, your mother seems like a lovely woman," Greg said, smiling. "She confirmed it was you that called her. Says you were crying hysterically about how Charlotte had lied to you."

"She and Liam were still having sex, weren't they?" Sara prodded. "That didn't fit in with what you thought you knew about their marriage. It probably felt a lot like she was cheating on you. I suppose that was the real reason you got angry."

Silvia grit her teeth. "You don't know anything!" she yelled. "I want a lawyer."

"We already have enough circumstantial evidence for a conviction. But once we match your prints to the ones on the gun, not even the slimiest lawyer in the world will be able to keep you out of jail," Sara retorted. She turned to the doorway, where a police officer was waiting to arrest Silvia, and nodded for him to book her.

Greg watched on as Silvia was put into handcuffs and led out of the room. Vartann nodded at the two of them as he followed the officer out.

"That was amazing, Greg," Sara told him, once they were alone in the room. "I'm really proud of you."

Greg felt himself blushing. "I wouldn't have even thought of it if you hadn't figured out she was lying to both of them."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Stop being humble and take a compliment for once," she said, collecting their evidence photos from the table.

"I can't help it if I'm not used to them."

"Then perhaps it's time to start complimenting you more," said a voice from the doorway. Greg whirled around to find Grissom there, watching him carefully. He'd almost forgotten that Grissom had been watching their entire interrogation from the other side of the glass. "Speaking of which, I like your shirt."

Greg glanced down at his t-shirt. Half hidden under his black blazer, it read "Stop Clubbing Baby Seals" and featured an accompanying picture of three baby seals at a nightclub surrounded by several beautiful women. "Thanks," he said sheepishly, as Sara read the shirt and laughed.

"You did a great job, both of you," Grissom told them. He turned to Greg. "I'm glad to see you're not missing the DNA lab at all."

Greg shrugged casually. "Hard to believe I'm not one of the lab rats any more, isn't it?"

"Maybe we should change your nickname to field rat instead," Sara teased, smirking at him. "Suits him, don't you think?"

The night shift supervisor merely smiled. "I think Greg suits him just fine."

Greg felt his cheeks grow even hotter. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to come up with something to say in response. Luckily, Sara intervened.

"So, feel like celebrating?" she asked. "How about drinks?"

"Depends... are you inviting Warrick?"

Sara quirked an eyebrow. "I was planning to. Why?"

"Remember last time? He made me do all those Slippery Nipples. I'm surprised I even made it home," Greg mused, shaking his head.

Grissom stared at the two of them curiously. "I'm going to assume there's meaning to that statement aside from the obvious."

* * *

Grissom soon discovered that a Slippery Nipple was a half sambuca, half Baileys shot that was quite popular at bars. Greg made him try one, to everyone's amusement. Not only had Sara invited Warrick along on their excursion, but also Nick, Catherine, Archie and Bobby. Even Hodges managed to tag along somehow.

Now that the stress of the case was finally off his shoulders, Greg was really able to enjoy himself. Warrick, who had craftily chosen a seat beside him, did once again insist on pumping shot after shot into the former lab rat. It made Greg wonder if he was an easy target or just a pushover.

At least this time there were more interesting drink names. Greg had the pleasure of sampling both an Alien Cumshot and a Screaming Orgasm, both of which tasted better than he expected.

He wasn't the only one getting into the spirit, either. Across from him at the table, Catherine and Bobby were downing a round of jello shots, while Nick and Archie each tested out the Kamikaze.

"Alright, time to dance!" said Catherine, kicking back her chair. "Who's coming with me?" Archie practically leapt out of his seat and hurried off toward the dance floor after Catherine. Everyone at the table burst out laughing.

"He's got it bad," said Warrick, sipping a beer. When one of the bartenders passed by their table, Warrick flagged him down and ordered another drink for Greg.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to take me home with you," Greg told him, shooting the other CSI a suspicious glance. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt though."

Warrick merely rolled his eyes. "Cute, Sanders." He reached up to ruffle Greg's hair. Greg noticed out of the corner of his eye that Hodges was staring a hole through his head. "Knowing you, you'll end up picking someone up. Or getting picked up. Whichever."

"You never know," said Greg, casting a discreet look Nick's way.

The bartender soon returned with Greg's next drink, which turned out to be a Jolly Green Giant. He downed the shot and made a strange face at the taste.

"That's definitely one you have to try, Grissom," he said. The night supervisor glanced across the table at him questioningly. "It tastes like crickets."

Grissom smiled. "Well in that case, I must."

"Anyone else feel like dancing?" Bobby asked. "I'm in the mood to get my groove on."

Sara chuckled rising from her seat. "Can't resist an invitation like that. You coming, guys?" she asked, looking around the table.

"I need a pee break," said Greg, slowly getting to his feet. Sara shrugged and headed off to the dance floor with Bobby while Greg scoped out the bathroom.

When he pushed the door open, he embraced the quiet calm of the small room. With his head pounding, it was nice to have a small respite from the noise and commotion of the bar. Picking one of the urinals, he unzipped his fly and began emptying his bladder. All those drinks Warrick had practically been spoon-feeding him were definitely catching up—whether or not that was a good thing, Greg couldn't decide. Being drunk in front of his boss and his coworkers was probably not the best idea. But then again, this outing had been Sara's idea, had it not?

When he was done, Greg zipped up his fly and headed for the sink. Partway through washing his hands, the door opened and Hodges walked in. Greg almost wanted to laugh at the irony. _Is he going to hold me hostage again?_

"Having fun?" Greg asked.

Hodges stared at him for a moment, then made his way over to one of the urinals. "I don't drink," he said flatly.

Greg smiled to himself. "I assumed that much. I guess _The Full David Hodges Experience_ doesn't include much fun, then, does it?"

"Interesting bruise on your chin, Sanders," he said, immediately switching the subject. Greg wasn't surprised. "Care to explain?"

"Not to you," Greg said, reaching for the paper towel dispenser to dry his hands. "'Cause I'd have to explain sex first, and that would take all day."

Hodges stiffened, looking as though he wanted to turn around, but remembering at the last second that he was still peeing. "The Full David Hodges Experience _does_ include sex, you know."

"Does it really?" Greg asked, half sarcastically. He laughed to himself. "So you might not be a lost cause after all. Interesting."

Hodges zipped up and headed for one of the sinks. "You'd be surprised at how little you actually know about me, Sanders."

"Hmm. Well you're nosy, annoying, a giant kiss-ass, and awfully interested in whether Nick and I are fucking... so I think I've got the basics down," Greg said, turning to look at the trace technician. "Anything you'd like to add?"

Frowning, Hodges went to reach for the paper towel dispenser, but Greg was in his way. "Are you sure you want to do that while you're drunk?" Hodges cautioned. "It would be all too easy for me to overpower you."

Greg licked his lips. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Hodges snapped his mouth shut, staring at the former DNA technician in surprise.

"You're not the only one," Greg said quietly, stepping out of the man's way. When Hodges made no move to dry his hands, Greg added, "Go ahead. I don't bite. Unless you want me to, that is."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," said Hodges, choosing instead to wipe his wet hands on his jeans.

"I think maybe I shouldn't have lied to you before," Greg started to say, leaning casually against the counter. "About me and Nick fucking, I mean. Where else would I have gotten this?" He gestured to the purplish bruise on his chin. "It's just too difficult to hide anything from you, Hodges. I don't think I'll bother anymore." He paused to take in the man's skeptical expression. "For example, this is something I would've had to hide from you... tonight, when we all leave here, Nick's going to take me back to my apartment and fuck me. He might even tie me up, or take me on my knees like a dog, because he knows I like it when he does that."

Greg took a few steps forward, backing Hodges up against the counter. He heard the man swallow dryly.

"He might even make me dress up for him again, because that really made him hard." Another step and their bodies were touching. Hodges felt warm through his clothing. "He likes seeing me spread out beneath him, panting, moaning his name over and over again. He likes making me come, especially when I have to beg him for release," Greg said, staring straight into Hodges' eyes. "I can't wait for him to fuck me tonight, David. When he's inside me, I'm going to tell him about this. I'll tell him how curious you were about my bruise, and I'll tell him I pressed up against you like this. He might ask me if it made you hard, but I won't know what to tell him..."

"It did," Hodges breathed. He grabbed Greg's hand and brought it between their bodes, resting it boldly against his crotch. Greg could feel the man's erection beneath the fabric. It almost made his knees buckle.

"Follow us back to my apartment in your car," Greg said. Hodges nodded shakily. "Don't move. I'm going to tell Nick. Meet us outside in five."

With that, Greg hurried out of the bathroom.


	5. You and Me and the Devil Makes 3

By the time he and Nick were finally on the road in the Denali, Hodges following behind them in his small silver sedan, Greg was so worked up he could barely believe it. That moment in the bathroom had been one of the most erotic in his life.

Seeing his hardness through his jeans, Nick had begun stroking him with one hand. Knowing that Hodges would be able to see it from behind them, Greg decided to go down on his lover while he was driving. Nick wasn't about to say no, even though they both knew how dangerous it was—there was no way they could wait until they got home.

Everyone had been upset when he and Nick said they were leaving early, but since they'd carpooled and Nick had to get home and feet his cat, there was just no way around it. Greg wondered what excuse Hodges had fed the crowd or whether he'd just slipped out unnoticed. He could probably get away with that.

"Jesus Greggo," Nick moaned, glancing down as the head in his lap surfaced for air. "Leave some for later..."

Greg smiled up at him. "You should have seen him, Nicky. I told him all the dirty things we like to do together and he got so hard."

"Guess your filthy mouth is good for something other than sucking my cock," Nick stated, still stroking Greg through his jeans.

"Surprise, surprise," Greg said with a laugh. He took Nick back into his mouth and continued lavishing him with attention until he felt them pull into the familiar bumpy driveway of his apartment building.

Nick parked the Denali in one of the unoccupied visitor's spots. When Hodges pulled in a moment later, he did the same.

"Down boy," Nick said—referring to Greg, who was still lapping at him. "We'll be upstairs in no time." Reluctantly, Greg allowed Nick to zip himself up and the two of them hopped out of the car.

"That was an _interesting_ view," said Hodges, leaning against his sedan. Laughing, Greg dashed over to the man, grabbed his hand, and pulled him up the walkway toward the building. Once the elevator doors closed behind the three of them a moment later, Greg pounced on their guest like a cat in heat.

As soon as their lips met, Greg opened his mouth and let Hodges slip his tongue inside. Greg ran a hand underneath the man's button-up shirt, feeling the smooth stomach beneath. Playfully, he raked his nails sharply against the soft skin, making Hodges jump in surprise.

When Greg finally broke the kiss, he was already panting. "God Nicky," he breathed, still face-to-face with Hodges. "I want him so badly." From behind him, he felt Nick's arms wrap around his waist. A soft set of lips were pressed to his temple.

"You have him, Greggo. He's right here."

The elevator soon came to a stop and let them off at Greg's floor. Nick led them down the hallway and unlocked the door while Greg molested Hodges against the wall.

Once the door was open, Greg shoved Hodges inside roughly and closed it behind them. He removed the black blazer overtop of his t-shirt and tossed it aside.

"Nice shirt," Hodges told him, mirroring Grissom's earlier compliment. "It's very Greg Sanders."

"So is the body underneath it, if you'd like to find out," Greg said with a smirk. He strolled past Hodges like he owned the place (which, ironically, he did), and stopped in front of Nick, who was standing in the middle of the open living room. Nick knew what he was doing. Greg was surrendering control to him. How delicious.

"Not that I don't love the shirt, Greggo, but I think you're a bit overdressed," Nick stated. He glanced past Greg to where Hodges was standing. "Maybe our guest can help you with that."

Greg turned to face Hodges as the man approached him. His body tingled with anticipation as Hodges reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over Greg's head. Behind him, Nick's fingertips traced the old burn scars on his back.

Next, Hodges unhooked Greg's belt and unzipped his fly. He pulled the jeans down to the floor, giving Greg a chance to step out of them. All that remained then were his boxers, which Hodges soon removed, leaving Greg exposed to both pairs of eyes.

From behind him, one of Nick's hands fisted in Greg's hair. Once he got a good grip, he yanked the young man backward so he fell against him, neck exposed to Hodges. Nick's other hand snaked around Greg's hip and grasped his cock.

"Nicky..." he whined, trying to buck into his lover's hand.

"Look at him, David," Nick said to their guest. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"Yes..." Hodges replied, taking a step closer. "I like his bruise," he told Nick breathily, staring at Greg's chin. "How did you give it to him?"

Nick smiled. "We were fucking, and he was begging me to come inside him," the Texan recalled, stroking Greg roughly and sporadically just to tease him. "So I grabbed his chin and turned his face to the side, then whispered in his ear what a little slut he was."

Greg made a strangled noise. "Hodges. Touch me."

"Eloquent as always, Sanders," the trace technician laughed. Nonetheless, he moved closer and, when Nick removed his hand, wrapped his palm around Greg's cock and began stroking him slowly.

Biting his lip, Greg let out a low growl. He felt Nick's hands trail slowly up his chest, stopping to pinch and tweak his nipples. Greg writhed in his hold. "I need to come," he whimpered. "Please, David. I want you to watch me come..."

Hodges increased the tempo of his strokes. He leaned in toward Greg and closed the space between their lips. "Then come," he goaded, locking eyes with the young CSI. "I'm watching."

"Hear that, Greggo? He wants to see you come," Nick whispered in his lover's ear. "Show him."

A loud moan tore itself from Greg's throat. Before he knew what was happening, his orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks. Luckily, he glanced up just in time to catch the look on Hodges' face as Greg erupted into the man's hand.

Hodges couldn't help but stare in awe at the sight before him. The sheer eroticism of watching the object of his most depraved sexual fantasies ejaculate right in front of him was mind-boggling. Greg Sanders—with his beautiful brown eyes that no one, least of all him, was immune to—actually wanted him.

Gradually, the young CSI's breathing started to slow and he returned to himself. Hodges' hand, sticky with Greg's semen, was removed from around his cock. The trace technician stared awkwardly at it.

"Need some help?" Nick asked, his tone playful. He and Hodges locked eyes. "Bring it over here and let me see what I can do about cleaning you up."

A thrill of excitement ran up Greg's spine. He'd been waiting for this—for Nick to come onto Hodges; to watch the two of them together. It made the voyeur inside of him tense with anticipation.

When Greg stepped out of the way and perched himself on the arm of the nearby sofa, Hodges took his place in front of Nick. At first Greg hadn't been quite sure how they would react to each other, but this was definitely good. The look in both men's eyes was pure lust.

Brashly, Nick took hold of Hodges' hand and brought it up to his lips. "You should really taste him, David," the Texan purred. "He's delicious." With that, Nick sucked several of the man's fingers into his mouth. Greg couldn't quite tell what he was doing to the digits other than sucking, but whatever it was, it made Hodges toss back his head and whimper.

"I think I might be a bit _underdressed_ now," Greg pointed out, rising from the arm of the couch. He circled around behind Hodges, letting his hands trail over the man's hips. While gently nipping Hodges' earlobe with his teeth, he reached around and unzipped the man's pants, feeling the heat radiating off the flesh beneath.

"No boxers?" Greg asked, surprised to discover nothing but skin beneath Hodges' pants. "How did you know that turns me on?"

Hodges cracked a smirky half-smile. "Is there anything you don't find arousing?"

"Very little," Greg admitted, letting the man's pants fall to the floor. Nick, having finished his thorough cleaning of Hodges' hand, unbuttoned the trace technician's shirt and discarded it.

Having David Hodges stark naked right before their eyes was more stimulating than either Greg or Nick expected. His body was pale and wiry with long, lean legs that seemed to go on for miles. After letting his eyes greedily roam the man's body, Greg's gaze was naturally drawn to Hodges' cock. It stood, erect and leaking pre-come, against his stomach, begging for attention.

"Mmm." Greg dabbed the tip of Hodges' penis with his index finger. Resting his chin on the man's shoulder, he said, "Look, Nicky. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"That all this time he's been hiding _that body _under his lab coat, or that he's hard as hell?"

Greg smiled. "Both, actually." He trailed a finger along the underside of Hodges' penis, watching happily as the man shivered under his touch. "Are you gonna fuck him?" Greg asked his lover.

"Isn't it obvious? He wants to fuck _you_, Greggo," said Nick, staring lustfully at their guest's cock. "What do you think—should we let him?"

"Still in the room," Hodges reminded them matter-of-factly. The look of irritation on his face was just a mask, however; Greg could see the eagerness beneath it. In a strange way, being able to see even a shred of what lay beneath the man's haughty exterior felt like success.

"How about we let Hodges decide," Greg suggested, stepping out from behind the man and offering him an owlish look. "He is our guest, after all."

Hodges seemed surprised at being handed control of the situation. He stared from Nick to Greg apprehensively, as though he expected one of them to change their mind. When neither did, he set his jaw in an expression of sheer determination and said, "You're telling me that whatever I say goes?"

Nick laughed softly. "Within reason," he told the man. Amusement twinkled in his eyes. "Not used to a whole lot of power, are you Hodges?"

The trace technician frowned. "I resent that."

"Quit stalling and tell us what you want," Greg instructed, eyes trailing down David's chest. "Either that or we'll just have our wicked way with you." Greg cast a mischievous wink over his shoulder at Nick, who returned the gesture.

"Come on David. What do you want?" Nick urged, his tone husky. He took a few steps forward to place himself on Hodges' left, while Greg stood on his right. Seemingly on the same wavelength, he and Greg both leaned in at the exact same time to assault the man's neck.

Hodges made a startled noise that quickly turned into a keening moan when both sets of lips latched onto his skin. Greg kissed a trail from his chin down to his collarbone, while Nick lightly nipped at a spot just to the side of his Adam's apple.

"If this is your wicked way, then by all means continue," Hodges joked. In retribution, Nick bit down harder. "_Ouch!_ Alright, no need to puncture an artery... if you really care to know, you were both wrong," he told them. "I think it's about time The Full David Hodges Experience was actually—well—experienced. And yes, Sanders, that is an invitation for you to fuck me."

Greg's head shot up. "What? You want _me_ to fuck _you_?"

Hodges rolled his eyes. "That's the idea."

The young man's eyes immediately shot to Nick, almost like he was asking for permission. "Trust me Greggo," the Texan stated, "I want to witness this just as badly as you want to do it. Now go."

Greg's smile was a mile wide. First, he seized Hodges' lips in a searing kiss, then shared one with his lover. Next, he looked on as Nick and Hodges brought their mouths together for the first time. Watching them taste and explore each other was as emotionally stimulating as it was physical—especially when Nick led the three of them into Greg's bedroom and pushed Hodges down on the bed.

Greg then proceeded to divest Nick of his clothes, relishing the moment when the three of them were all naked.

"On your knees, Hodges," Greg ordered, watching happily as his command was obeyed. Nick hurried over to the nightstand and brought back a condom and a small bottle of lube, both of which he handed to Greg before joining Hodges on the bed.

While Greg gradually began to prepare their guest, Nick slid into position in front of Hodges with his legs open, giving the man a perfect path to his cock. He watched eagerly as Hodges studied it—from the thick shaft all the way up to the leaking pink tip. When Greg's fingers began scissoring inside Hodges, the man moaned and took Nick into his mouth.

His tongue explored the head of Nick's penis studiously, before taking him deeper. Automatically, Nick's hands grappled for purchase in the man's greying hair as he sucked and licked at the Texan's engorged flesh.

When Greg removed his fingers, Hodges whimpered endearingly. "Don't worry David, you're about to get something even better," Greg reassured him, sliding on the condom. Indeed, when Greg slid the tip of his penis inside Hodges, it proved much better than his fingers for both parties.

"Greg..." Hodges moaned softly.

"_Fuck_, I like it when you say my name." Slowly, Greg pushed in the rest of the way, earning another moan from the man. "Say it again."

Hodges let the tip of Nick's penis slip out of his mouth. "_Greg_," he repeated, voice thick with arousal.

Greg's eyes slipped shut and his face contorted in pleasure. Nick stared up at his lover in admiration. He couldn't believe how sexy it was to watch Greg gripping Hodges' hips and thrusting into him with that expression on his face. Combined with the dominance he was exerting, it made for a powerful visual.

Nick's train of thought was suddenly broken when he felt Hodges draw one of his balls into his mouth. Nick sucked in a sharp breath. "Yeah," he growled, "that's it." Trailing a finger down the side of David's face, he added, "What a good little cocksucker you are."

"He's tight as hell, Nicky..." Greg moaned, pulling out almost completely and then burying himself deep once more. Hodges clutched hard at the sheets beneath his palms.

"Describe it to me, Greggo. Tell me how he feels."

"God, he's so tight... it feels amazing. Like fucking a virgin," Greg said with a sly grin. "He's deliberately clenching around me when I push in. He really wants to please me—don't you David?"

"If you don't fuck me harder, Sanders, I'll have to tell Grissom it was you that broke the coffee maker," Hodges threatened, smirking up at Nick.

"Oh, so you wanna play hardball now?" said Greg, red-faced. "Fine by me. Just don't complain to us when you're walking funny tomorrow." The look that came over Greg's face at that moment was absolutely feral. Clenching his jaw, he grabbed hold of both Hodges' wrists and secured them behind his back.

Then came the fulfillment of David's request—which he seemed rather ill-prepared for once Greg unleashed on him. Not only did the young CSI fuck him harder, but he pounded into Hodges like his life depended on it. Nick, also ill-prepared for the intensely arousing sight, was caught off guard by the sudden wave of desire that surged through him.

As his climax hit unexpectedly, he made a desperate noise in the back of his throat and was suddenly coming—not into Hodges' mouth, as he anticipated—but rather, onto the man's face. Greg watched with rapt attention as the evidnece of Nick's pleasure sprayed over Hodges' mouth and chin, the rest trickling down onto the sheets below. A moment later, when Hodges opened his mouth, his tongue darted out to lick at the stickiness covering his lips.

Nick, panting and spent, leaned back on his elbows to admire the sight in front of him.

"Mmm," Greg breathed, gently releasing Hodges' wrists from his grip. "Looks like your turn to come, David." On a whim, Greg decided to change up their position slightly. He pulled Hodges up so that his back was flat against Greg's front, but they both remained on their knees. It gave Nick a perfect view of the proceedings—not to mention Hodges' erection.

To keep them pressed against one another, Greg reached around and grasped the trace technician's chin. Realizing how debauched Hodges must look in their new position, Greg smirked to himself. He slammed into Hodges roughly and heard the man howl when his prostate was stimulated.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Hodges reaching for his weeping cock, and quickly slapped the man's hand away. A pained whimper escaped Hodges' lips.

"No touching yourself. I'm going to make you come." He punctuated this statement with another devastating thrust. Hodges responded by trying to push himself further onto Greg's cock, but Greg wasn't having it.

"What did I say, David?" When Hodges didn't reply, Greg tightened his grip on the man's chin. "_What did I say_?"

"You're going to make me come," Hodges answered hoarsely. There was still quite a bit of semen on his mouth and chin that he hadn't been able to lick off. Greg liked the way it seemed to debase him more than anything else.

"That's a good boy," said Greg, delivering a series of quick, hard thrusts to David's sweet spot that made the man tremble in his grasp. "Now come for us. Let's give Nicky a good show."

"Oh. Greg, please..." Hodges whimpered. The young CSI continued thrusting, deep and hard, until Hodges moaned like a dying man and began gushing like Greg couldn't believe. Some of it even managed to hit Nick, whose eyes were wide open in awe.

Greg wasn't far behind. He freed Hodges' chin just as his own orgasm hit, making him shudder as he rode out the waves of euphoria through several slow thrusts. One he finally stopped moving, the two of them remained in place for a moment before Greg extracted himself and slipped off the condom.

Immediately, Greg collapsed on his back on the mattress, his chest heaving up and down with his deep breaths. He could feel the weight of two sets of eyes on him, and looked up to see both men staring.

"Jesus," said Nick, shattering the silence. "We need showers."


	6. Libido Fascination

Greg was the first to rise after their sex-a-thon, despite his entire body feeling like cooked spaghetti. He never slept for very long; especially, as he discovered, when sharing a modest-sized bed with two other people (both of whom snored).

Thus, he ended up in the kitchen pouring himself a bowl of cereal. His apartment was an absolute mess—of course, it looked that way even before the threesome—but the various articles of clothing strewn about the living room gave it a wonderful, trashy feel.

Admittedly, Greg wasn't quite sure what to make of last night's events. He'd never been part of a threesome before, not even in college. Not only was it all it was made out to be and more, but picking Hodges for the honour was a stroke of genius. It wasn't often that Greg gave himself a pat on the back, but this definitely qualified as one of those times.

"Please tell me you have something more nutritious than that."

Greg looked up to find Hodges standing on the other side of the breakfast bar, staring disapprovingly at his cereal.

"What's wrong with Fruit Loops?" Greg protested. When Hodges didn't reply, Greg rolled his eyes. "I think I have some Raisin Bran in the cupboard above the sink."

Seemingly in better spirits, Hodges went to investigate. "Oh, I'm assuming these are yours by the way," he said, gesturing to the grey pyjama pants he was wearing. "I couldn't find any of my stuff."

"You know, I have to say... I'm surprised you didn't take off running the minute you woke up and realized where you were," Greg admitted.

Hodges froze, Raisin Bran box in hand. "What makes you think that?"

"My prior experience with all men that aren't Nick." Greg shovelled back a spoonful of Fruit Loops, waiting for a reaction.

Carefully, Hodges set the cereal box down on the counter. He offered Greg a kindly look. "Whoever woke up beside _you_, Greg Sanders, and ran—is obviously an idiot."

Greg laid down his spoon, swallowing his mouthful of cereal. Before Hodges knew what was happening, Greg had pulled him in for a kiss. He felt the man's hand wrap around his waist and let himself be pulled in close. Greg's fingers wandered into Hodges' hair. When they broke apart, he sighed contentedly.

"You're nice in the mornings," Greg purred. The trace technician laughed and went back to pouring his cereal. "No, really. I like it."

"I should have known. You only want the prick version of me when there's angry sex involved."

"Don't say angry sex."

Returning from the fridge carrying a carton of milk, Hodges quirked an eyebrow. "Why, might I ask?"

"'Cause it turns me on, and I'm too tired for sex right now," said Greg, spooning back another mouthful of cereal.

A half-smile played across his lips as Hodges joined the young man at the bar. "That must be a first," he ribbed, staring down at his Raisin Bran.

Greg frowned mid-bite and set down his spoon. "Contrary to popular belief, I do have other interests, you know."

"I don't think porn magazines and ugly shirts count, Sanders."

"Oh, so it's back to last names now?" Greg crossed his arms over his chest.

"I thought me calling you Greg turned you on—and haven't I just been instructed not to do that?" Hodges asked. He blinked innocently at Greg.

"God, you _are_ a kiss-ass," the CSI chided, laughing to himself. "Is that how you got Ecklie to buy all that new equipment for your lab? Or did you blow him?"

Hodges glared at the former lab rat through a mouthful of cereal. "Don't talk to me about kissing Ecklie's ass, Sanders. You're the expert," he declared. "In fact, I'm surprised your lips aren't attached to it right now."

"Oh, David. There wouldn't be room with you in the way," Greg told him, putting on a sweet smile.

Nonchalantly, Hodges returned to his breakfast, as if he hadn't even heard Greg. "You know, sometimes I think you talk just to hear your own voice," he said, glancing sidelong at the young CSI. "I bet you talk to yourself when you jerk off."

"Geeze, what's up _your_ ass this morning?" said Greg, frowning. "No need to be bitter."

"If you really care to know, the answer is pain," Hodges explained. "A lot of pain." He cast the Norwegian a sobering glance.

Greg paused while rinsing his bowl in the sink. "I'm surprised to hear you admit that."

Hodges rolled his eyes, as though dealing with a particularly annoying child. "If you prick me, Sanders, do I not bleed?" he asked, earning a puzzled look from the other man.

"_The Merchant of Venice_..." Greg uttered, seemingly to himself. "I didn't know you liked Shakespeare." He gazed at Hodges with newfound appreciation in his eyes.

"Like I said before, there's a lot you don't know about me." He cracked a wry smile that roused something deep within Greg. "Are you always so indiscriminate when it comes to your sexual partners?"

Greg knit his brow at Hodges. "If I didn't know better I'd assume you were calling me a slut," he began tersely. "But in the interest of keeping peace, I'm going to let that one slide." Hodges shot him an _oh you will, will you?_ sort of look, but Greg ignored it. "And for your information, Nick is the only person I'm sleeping with," he added, his tone defensive.

"So what am I—chopped liver?"

Greg let his mouth snap closed quickly. "No, of course not," he faltered, caught off guard. "I just didn't think we were, you know, _sleeping together..._ at this point. Doesn't that usually constitute more than one night?"

"Usually," Hodges agreed. "But I haven't exacted my revenge for you manhandling me yet—which at the very least guarantees another night."

Greg's mouth suddenly felt dry. "Your revenge? What exactly does that entail?" he asked, not even sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Patience, Sanders. What kind of revenge would it be if I ruined the surprise?"

"The kind I could potentially escape from," Greg replied, hoping against hope that Nick would be around to save him from whatever Hodges' evil mind was planning.

* * *

At the start of Greg's next shift at the lab, he found himself alongside Sara in the break room examining the Charlotte Pierce case file. It was standard procedure, just to make sure everything was in order before the case went to court.

As far as Greg could see, they hadn't overlooked anything—all the evidence had been logged correctly, their notes were in order, and the tape from Silvia Tedesco's interrogation had been added and logged.

"Hey," Greg stated, a sudden thought popping into his head. "Did Vartann bring over Silvia's prints from PD?"

Sara nodded, closing the manila folder in front of her. "He sent them to Mandy—she confirmed them as a match to the unknown on the gun."

Greg made sure to mark that down in his notes. "Wow, looks like a slam dunk for the DA."

"Sure does," Sara agreed. She set the folder in her hands aside and stared curiously at Greg. "You know, I didn't get a chance to ask you this the other night, since you and Nick left so early," she began. Greg immediately stiffened. "How's everything going with your guy?"

"My guy?" Greg squeaked.

"You know, the hickey-giver," Sara clarified, a shrewd grin playing across her lips. "You are still seeing him, aren't you?"

"Oh, him." Greg cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, we're still seeing each other. It's, uh... pretty good I guess."

"Well that doesn't sound very convincing," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Greg mentally kicked himself. If only he weren't such a bad liar, he might have been able to sneak by with that response. Then again, this _was _Sara he was talking to. "Trying to skimp on the details, if you don't mind. It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to kiss and tell, now would it?"

"Since when has being considered gentlemanly ever been a concern of yours?" she rejoined, rolling her eyes. "And can you really blame me for worrying, Greg? I've seen bruises all over you, and you sure as hell didn't give them to yourself."

Greg paled. The corner of his mouth twitched as he set down his pen. "So that's what this is about? You want to know if he's abusing me?" Greg laughed; it was a cold, biting sound that caught the other CSI off-guard. "God, Sara, if only you knew who he was—trust me, you'd be laughing too."

"Then tell me. Give me _something_ so I can stop worrying, at least," Sara implored. Greg had never heard her speak to him in such a dire tone before. He wondered if maybe it had been wrong to laugh when she seemed so concerned. "It's not just me, you know," she went on. "You think Grissom hasn't noticed? He's just too polite to say anything."

Greg had risen from his seat while Sara spoke, but when he heard the mention of Grissom's name, he froze and nearly dropped the stack of files in his hand. "I realize how bad it must look, but it's not like that," he assured her. "Honestly. Everything's fine."

Sara frowned. "I want to believe you, Greg. I really do."

"Then believe me," he insisted, heading for the doorway. "I'm not as stupid as I look." Sara sighed. She didn't seem convinced, but Greg was telling her the truth, and there wasn't much else he could do. "I should run these over to Grissom. See you later," he told her, stepping out into the hall.

Shortly after dropping the Pierce files off on Grissom's desk, Greg strolled by the trace lab, hoping to see a familiar face. He was not disappointed. Hodges was sitting at his desk, watching the gas chromatograph with a rather bored expression as it processed a sample. Every so often his eyes would begin to droop slightly, as though he'd barely slept at all the previous night. Greg smiled impishly. Seeing Hodges out of whack on the job was oddly satisfying.

Deciding to further lift his mood, Greg sauntered into the lab and leaned against the edge of Hodges' desk.

"Slow day?" he asked. Hodges swivelled around in his chair with a sudden jolt. "A bit intrusive when people sneak up on you, isn't it?" Greg teased.

The man aimed an exasperated glance Greg's way, but there was no real malice behind it. "What do you want, Sanders?"

"You. In your car, after your shift."

Hodges frowned. "Propositioning me in my own lab. How very discreet of you," he chided. "Ever considered asking me that while we're not at work?"

"Of course, but where's the fun in that?" Greg shook his head in dismay at the trace technician.

"I should have guessed you'd get this annoying after sex," Hodges replied, pulling an irritated face. "If I say yes will it get you to leave?"

"Certainly. Though there's no need to make excuses for what you want, darling. We're both adults here."

Hodges looked like he might laugh. "Right. You go ahead and think that, _darling_." He turned around and went back to watching the gas chromatograph. "And show yourself out while you're at it."

Greg smiled to himself and left Hodges in peace.

* * *

Later that day, after Greg's shift ended, he met Hodges in the parking lot outside the lab. It was a warm Vegas morning; the sun had just risen in the sky, and the smell of lust was in the air... well, at least for Greg.

"Could you have parked any further away from the building?" he asked, sliding into the passenger's side of Hodges' silver Jetta.

"If complaining is your idea of foreplay, Sanders—you have a lot to learn," Hodges told him, shutting his door behind him. Once the two of them were sealed inside the car, Hodges turned to look at the young man beside him. "Now, I finally get what I've been craving all day." Then, suddenly, his lips were on Greg's.

Part of Greg wanted to scream _I knew it, what a liar _but the majority was too distracted by Hodges' tongue in his mouth to bother. A strong hand reeled him in by the back of the neck, drawing Greg deeper into the kiss and making his senses come alive with the man's taste.

If Greg had to explain it, he'd say it was a mix between coffee and something that tasted almost like alfredo sauce. Ironically enough, the flavour was actually starting to make him hungry for pasta. Greg wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"Know what I want, _darling_?" Hodges asked once they broke apart for air.

"What?" Greg breathed.

Hodges fisted his hand in the Norwegian's hair, making Greg whimper softly. "I want my cock down your throat."

The young CSI swallowed dryly, feeling an immediate and uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. With that arousing statement seared into his mind, he repositioned himself with his head on the man's thigh. Hodges made quick work of unzipping his fly and extracted his rapidly hardening flesh.

However, when Greg went to touch his tongue to the tip, Hodges drew back and whacked his penis across the young man's mouth.

Greg blinked in disbelief. "Did you just _cockslap_ me?"

Hodges stared down at him, his pupils dilated in arousal. "Such a greedy little boy... I don't recall giving you permission to start yet."

Greg wasn't sure what was more surprising—the fact that Hodges had just cockslapped him, or the fact that it was ridiculously hot. "Please, let me have it," he begged, staring up at Hodges with needy eyes.

"Mmm. That's better," the trace technician said, allowing Greg to take him into his mouth. Once the young man was occupied, Hodges scooped up his hands and pinned them at his back, just like Greg had done to him the night before. "What goes around comes around," Hodges gloated.

Just for that, Greg sucked him slowly; teasingly. He tried to make it look like he was doing a lot, when in fact he had actually reduced the friction. It was a little while before Hodges caught on, but when he did, he grabbed a handful of Greg's hair and yanked him upwards.

"Hey, watch the 'do," Greg joked, a smirk on his lips.

Hodges glared daggers at him. "Stop screwing around, Sanders—start acting like the dirty little cocksucker you are, and get to work."

"Desperate for my mouth, Hodges?" Greg smiled. "How sweet."

His patience waning, Hodges did the only thing he could think of to shut Greg up—he shoved his penis back into the young man's mouth. Greg was amenable; he took Hodges deep into his throat, making the man moan and shudder at the stimulation. Hard as a rock, Hodges' felt thick and heavy on Greg's tongue. The second time Greg deep-throated him, the lab tech groaned and swore loudly, exploding in Greg's mouth.

Aside from the sound of Hodges' laboured breathing, the car soon fell silent. Greg worked on cleaning up their mess, and then popped his head up.

"You're really sneaky, you know that? I never pegged you for having a dirty mouth."

Hodges smirked, a satisfied look on his face. "What can I say? I keep it well-hidden."

"Smart," Greg said with a grin, pushing himself back up into a sitting position. "You know, I think I'm going to need a massage after that. My neck is killing me."

"That's your own fault for insisting we do this in my car. I don't see why we couldn't have gone back to your place," Hodges stated, zipping himself back up. "You do live alone, after all." He reached into his pocket and extracted his car keys, glancing sidelong at the young man in the passenger's seat.

Greg rolled his neck from side to side, hearing it crack several times. "Don't tell me you don't find sex in cars exciting..." said Greg, reclining comfortably in his seat. "Even you must like a little excitement in your life every now and then."

Predictably, Hodges rolled his eyes. "I certainly wouldn't be letting you blow me in my car otherwise," he said, making the younger man laugh.

"Mmm." Greg turned to wink at Hodges. "I like it when you say _blow me_."

Sighing, the trace technician slipped his keys into the ignition. When the Jetta's engine sprang to life, he asked, "Am I driving you home?"

"No. My truck's here," Greg stated, pointing to his black Denali sitting across the parking lot. "I'll see you tomorrow." He opened the door and made to get out, but Hodges' hand on his arm stopped him.

"Greg... you didn't let me take care of you," he pointed out, casting a fleeting look at the young man's crotch.

The Norwegian grinned. "Another time. I'll let you get me off all you want, okay?"

That seemed to satisfy the lab tech to some extent. "At least give me a kiss before you go," he said. "It's my day off tomorrow."

Smiling, Greg obliged. He leaned over the console and pressed his lips against the other man's. Hodges' hand reached up to gently cup his cheek as Greg's tongue slipped into his mouth.

"Alright, you'd better go before you make me hard again," Hodges told him a moment later. Greg couldn't help but agree. Still smiling, he slid out of the car, shutting the door behind him, and headed toward his truck. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Hodges pull out of his parking space and drive away.

Greg couldn't help but notice the warm feeling lingering inside his chest. It was telling him that bringing Hodges into the equation was his best idea yet.

"Hey there cowboy," said a voice to Greg's left. When he turned around, it was to find Catharine, cell phone in hand, standing just outside the lab's front doors. It looked as though she'd just gotten off the phone.

"Oh. Hey, Cath," he replied awkwardly. His mind was suddenly racing with the possibility that she'd been standing outside long enough to see him getting out of Hodges' car. "Calling Lindsey?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Catharine nodded. "Just making sure she left for school on time. You know how teenage girls can get in the morning." The swing shift supervisor tilted her head to the side, a curious expression on her face. Greg swallowed nervously. "You know," she said, "I'm not your supervisor, Greg. And I'm certainly not going to say anything."

_Oh shit_, Greg thought, mentally kicking himself. _Hodges was right—his car was definitely not a good place for that._

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, Greg ran a hand through his hair and sighed tensely. "Thanks. Uh... I appreciate that." He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Listen, the two of us aren't—well, we're not really a couple or anything. But, uh, Sara's been really interested in who I've been seeing, so if you could keep this off her radar..."

"My lips are sealed, Greg. I promise," she vouched, offering him a kind smile. "I'm just happy you're having some fun. Even if it is with Hodges."

Greg crossed his arms over his chest as Catharine chuckled. He had a strange feeling that she wasn't going to let him live this down anytime soon. It almost made Greg wish that she'd seen him making out with Nick instead. At least that way, she'd have less to tease him about.


	7. Let Me Show You Where It Hurts

"Hey, Nicky?" Nick looked up from the laptop perched across his thighs. "Do you like Hodges?" Greg asked him, swallowing a mouthful of burrito.

"Yeah, sure I do." The Texan cast him a furtive look. "Why do you ask?"

Greg shrugged, reaching for his glass of water. "I guess I was just thinking about the three of us."

"Just _thinking_ about the three of us, or hoping it'll happen again?" Nick asked perceptively. Caught by surprise, Greg nearly choked on the drink of water he'd been taking. "Hey, there's no shame in wanting something," Nick told him, reaching over to rub his lover's back.

"You're getting a bit too good at that," Greg noted with a frown. He set his glass of water down on the coffee table. "Have you been taking tips from Sara?"

Nick let his hand wander down to Greg's lower back, slowly massaging the tense muscles he found there. "No. I just know you, that's all," he said, his hand wandering even further down until it gently cupped Greg's ass. "You know, when you first suggested we bring Hodges home with us at the bar, I wasn't sure what to think..."

"I noticed," Greg said with a laugh. "You just stood there and stared at me."

Nick smiled softly. "Can you blame me for being surprised?" He gave Greg's butt a reassuring squeeze, making the young man laugh. "I wouldn't have said yes unless I was really on board—so you didn't force me into anything. I hope you know that," he stated, watching Greg nod.

"Yeah, I know. It still sort of freaks me out though, that it _really_ happened." A wide smile spread across the young CSI's face as he recalled that night in his mind. "Pretty wild, wasn't it?"

"One thing's for sure—I'll never be able to look at Hodges the same way," Nick laughed. Greg knew exactly what he meant. "Except for his obsession with you, I didn't even think he was gay," the Texan went on. "After being subjected to all his unnecessarily detailed stories about women, I just assumed he was straight."

"Maybe he's bi?" Greg suggested. "After all, who doesn't appreciate an attractive woman every once in a while?" He winked suggestively at his lover.

"Some of us can do a bit better than _once in a while_," Nick teased.

In retribution, Greg picked up one of the couch cushions and tossed it at Nick's head, but the older CSI knocked it away. "That's only 'cause women drool all over themselves for those muscles of yours," he said, offering Nick's rippling bicep a calculating glance. "Thanks to my scrawny Norwegian genes, the ladies never get to know my winning personality."

Nick raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Did I just hear you say _winning personality_?" he asked skeptically.

"Oh hush. You love it."

"I do indeed," Nick conceded. "As a matter of fact, I wouldn't have my Greggo any other way." Setting aside his laptop, he reached over and pulled Greg on top of him so the young man straddled his thighs.

"I think I'm beginning to understand why you're so good with women," Greg mused, wiggling playfully in Nick's lap. "You come across with all this Texan bravado, but inside you're just a big softy."

The older man laughed. "Oh really?" He slid a warm hand under the hem of Greg's t-shirt, letting it rest gently against his stomach. "And you know this how?"

Greg smiled. "I just know you, that's all," he said, repeating Nick's earlier statement. In response to his words, the expression on Nick's face was pure adoration. It made Greg feel like he was floating on cloud nine.

"Stop being so adorable, or I won't be responsible for what happens next."

An air of intrigue became visible on Greg's face. Knowing it would drive Nick crazy, he squirmed eagerly in his lover's lap and asked, "What might that be?"

Nick's tongue darted out of his mouth, licking at his lips almost unconsciously. His hand trailed upward from Greg's stomach—intending to make contact with a nipple, but suddenly stopped when his fingers ghosted over the young man's ribs.

"Greggo," Nick began appraisingly, "you're so skinny... I can feel your ribs through your skin."

The young CSI knit his brow. Nick noted with concern that the colour seemed to have drained from Greg's face. Where he'd been comfortable and relaxed in Nick's lap mere moments ago, he was now stiff and awkward.

"I told you I was scrawny. It runs in my family," Greg insisted. When he made to lift himself from his lover's lap, Nick stopped him.

"Why won't you let me talk to you about this?" he asked. Greg didn't answer—he was purposefully staring away from Nick. "Greggo, look at me," the Texan demanded, capturing his lover's jaw and bringing them face to face. Greg glared at him and made an angry noise in the back of his throat, but Nick ignored both acts. "The first time we had sex, you tried to do this exact same thing. Tell me why."

Growling, Greg reached up and pried Nick's hand off his chin. When he tried to get up a second time, however, Nick seized his wrists and wasn't prepared to let go. He wanted answers.

"Mmm," Greg moaned, chuckling. His eyes were dark. "I like it when you get rough."

"This isn't about sex, Greg. Answer the question."

"Don't tell me you're not turned on, Nicky..." he purred, writhing seductively in his lover's lap. "I'll let you hold me down and fuck me raw right now. Bareback, if you want."

"Jesus Christ, Greg!" Nick exclaimed. "Are you really so desperate not to talk about this that you'd let me fuck you without a condom?" Greg stared coldly at him. Angrily, Nick tightened his grip on the young man's wrists, making him cry out in pain. "Tell me you didn't just say that!"

"Did it ever cross your mind that I might be embarrassed about being skinny?" Greg snarled. Nick's mouth hung open in shock. Never in his life had he heard Greg raise his voice. "You don't fucking own me Nick, I don't have to answer to you! Now _let go of me_."

Still in shock, Nick slowly released Greg's wrists. Immediately, the young CSI sprung from his lap as though he'd been burned. Bristling, Greg snatched his car keys off the coffee table and trudged out of Nick's living room.

Nick hung his head, feeling like an idiot. "Greg, I was just worried about you," he called, rising from the couch to follow the young man. He managed to catch Greg by the shirt just as he reached the front door. Desperately, Nick wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing their bodies together. "Don't leave. Please."

Greg muttered something under his breath that Nick's wasn't able to catch. "Greg?" he asked tentatively.

Savagely, Greg spun around on his heel. The look in his eyes was murderous. "I bet Hodges would fuck me bareback," he snapped.

The anger welled up inside Nick so fast that he barely knew what was happening. "Hodges would do anything you fucking asked him to, Greg—without any concern for anyone else. You _know_ he doesn't care about you the way I do, but you still have the fucking nerve to say that to me?" He let out a tense sigh. "Unbelievable."

Greg looked stricken. It was obvious he hadn't expected Nick to react so harshly.

"You've been fucking around with him, haven't you?" Nick asked suddenly, a sick feeling in his stomach. Meekly, Greg nodded. The Texan took a handful of ragged breaths, trying to calm himself down. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know..." Greg hung his head. "God, I'm sorry Nick," he said brokenly. "I shouldn't have said that, and I shouldn't have lied to you about Hodges."

Nick pressed his lover against him in a forgiving hug. "It's okay," he empathized, gently running a hand over Greg's hair. Comforted, the young man let his head rest in the crook of Nick's neck.

"Greggo?" the older man asked. Slowly, Greg looked up at him. "You'd tell me if you had a problem with food, wouldn't you?"

A heartbreaking look came over Greg's face. Nick hoped he'd never have to see it again. "Of course," his lover finally said. "You're the first person I'd tell."

"Okay," Nick whispered, letting Greg's head rest on his shoulder once more. For the moment, he felt reassured—and that was enough for him.

* * *

The silver Denali came to a slow stop in front of the small bungalow, and Greg cut the engine. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what he was doing here. His earlier fight with Nick had left him knocked for six—he didn't know what the hell to do with himself. For the past half-hour he'd simply been driving around aimlessly, trying to work off some of the excess emotion he was carrying around. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working. He needed another way to vent... thus, he'd ended up here.

As he headed up the narrow walkway, he kept thinking to himself that maybe this wasn't the best idea considering what had just happened. Conversely, his brain told his feet to keep walking and before he knew it, he was on the front porch ringing the doorbell.

The moment Hodges opened the door, it was too late for second thoughts.

"Greg," he said, obviously surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in? Please?"

After taking one look at the pleading expression on Greg's face, Hodges opened the door wide enough for him to enter. "Is something wrong?" he asked, studying his guest curiously. Greg stood awkwardly in the foyer, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

"I need a favour," he stated. "I need you to fuck me."

Hodges looked torn between amusement and concern. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck uneasily. "You're serious," he remarked, as though he was having trouble believing it. "Something happened. What's wrong, Sanders?"

"What's wrong?" Greg seethed, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "I'll tell you what's wrong, David. You're not fucking me right now. So get to it."

Slowly, Hodges frowned. "If this is your idea of talking dirty, it's doing the opposite of turning me on," he confessed, a wary look in his eyes. "And you're lucky my mom's not home to hear this, by the way."

Ignoring him, Greg glanced down the hallway. "Where's your room?"

"It's the one at the end of the hall..." Hodges replied. Immediately, Greg took off in the specified direction. "Greg, what are you doing?" the trace technician asked, following along after him.

Greg didn't respond. He stepped into Hodges' room and pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor.

Hodges gave an exasperated sigh when he entered the room to find Greg stripping off his jeans and shoes. "Why are you doing this?" he questioned. "And you'd better tell me, Sanders, or I'm not fucking you."

After yanking off his socks, the young CSI glanced up. "I want you," he declared, crossing his arms over his chest. "Come on, why else would I be doing this? It's sex, Hodges. Your cock up my ass. Think you can manage?"

"Yes, thank you for the valuable instructions Sanders but I know how to have sex."

Proceeding as though he hadn't heard the man, Greg tugged off his boxers and let them drop to the floor. Next, he crawled onto Hodges' bed and lay face up. The room had gone eerily silent.

"_Come on_ you pussy. Fuck me!" Greg snarled, spreading his legs enticingly. It gave Hodges a perfect view of what lay between his thighs.

"Greg... you're not even hard," Hodges said uncomfortably. There was a disheartened expression on his face that Greg couldn't look at—he turned his head to the side, feeling tears sting his eyes.

"Please," Greg begged brokenly, still unable to meet the man's eyes. "_Please_, David. I need this..."

Tentatively, Hodges crawled onto the bed. With a sigh, he began slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" Greg shook his head. "Then at least tell me how you got these bruises," he said, ghosting his fingers over the purpling skin on one of Greg's wrists.

The young man brought his arm to his face as though he hadn't even known the bruises were there. "Nick gave them to me," he whispered, choking back a sob.

"_Nick_ did this to you?" Hodges' mild was reeling. He sat back on his heels. "Is he hurting you?"

"No!" Greg shouted, shooting up into a sitting position. "It's not like that. It was just an accident." He stared down at his wrists in disbelief. "Nick cares about me..."

Tossing his shirt to the side, Hodges began removing his pants and boxers. "I know he does, Greg. But he must have really crushed your wrists to give you bruises like this."

"I was too mad at him to notice," Greg divulged, watching Hodges free himself from the remainder of his clothing. "I don't want to talk about Nick."

Hodges sighed, but nodded. "Lean back, okay? Just get comfortable," he said, reaching into the top drawer of his nightstand. Taking a deep breath, Greg acquiesced, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

However, when Greg noticed Hodges return with a condom and a bottle of lube in his hand, his relaxation was broken. Greg's hand darted out to seize the man's arm before he could use either article.

"What—" the trace technician began, but was interrupted.

"No condom."

Hodges stared at him in alarm. "You're kidding, right?" Greg shook his head, a pleading look in his eyes. "No way, Sanders. I don't care how upset you are."

Greg frowned. "You don't understand. I need this," he insisted, flipping Hodges onto his back and straddling him.

The lab tech paled. "Are you crazy?" he exclaimed, feeling Greg's hand on his cock, positioning it against the young man's entrance. He tried to wrestle Greg out of the position but there was no stopping him. "Never mind the condom; you're going to hurt yourself. You don't have to do this..."

It was as if Greg couldn't even hear him. A moment later, when he got the alignment right, Greg hurriedly impaled himself on Hodges' cock. Not only was he not prepared for the sudden penetration, but there was no lube, and he took the man's entire length in one thrust.

The pained cry that tore itself from Greg's throat chilled Hodges to the very bone. He couldn't imagine why Greg would want to hurt himself like this—all he knew was that he felt deeply ashamed for being hard.

"Greg... are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said tensely. His eyes were closed. Hodges did note with some relief, however, that Greg's formerly uninterested cock was now half-hard. When Greg slowly started to move, a sharp groan escaped the young man's lips. "You feel so good inside me," he breathed, picking up his pace.

Hodges was having a hard time denying how arousing it was to watch Greg ride his cock, even under the circumstances. Part of him wanted to let go of his reservations and just enjoy it, but he couldn't. Not completely, at least.

Still, Hodges reached up and cupped Greg's face with his hands, watching those beautiful brown eyes slowly flutter open. "I'm weak when it comes to you," he admitted. "I'm sorry." Greg stared down at him in surprise.

"Why are you sorry?" the Norwegian asked in between laboured breaths. "You're giving me what I want."

When Greg brought himself down on a particularly forceful thrust, Hodges moaned, letting his hands roam into Greg's hair. "What you want and what's good for you seem to be two different things," he stated.

Greg paused his movements to reposition himself with his head closer to David's, then continued his tempo. "They always are," he said shrewdly. Unable to resist, Hodges leaned up and captured Greg's lips in a kiss. The young CSI yielded completely to him, parting his lips to let Hodges' tongue plunder his mouth.

Soon enough, Greg's pace started to become erratic and more aggressive. He broke their kiss to catch his breath, moaning when he pushed himself down onto Hodges and found his own sweet spot.

Hodges was finding it difficult not to come too soon. Greg was incredibly tight around him, and without a condom, every sensation was enhanced that much more. When the stimulation became too much to bear, however—it was impossible to hold back any longer.

"Greg, let me pull out, I'm—"

"Coming?" Greg asked. "Scared you're gonna knock me up?" Hodges was happier than he could express to see Greg's sense of humour return. Regardless, he started to answer no, but was cut off. "Then do it. Come inside me," Greg dared him.

Hodges wanted to say no, but it was too late. He bucked his hips up into Greg with the force of his orgasm, groaning at the erotic sensation of coming inside the young man without a condom. All the while, Greg sucked and nipped at his neck, leaving tiny little teeth marks up and down the pale flesh.

Once he recovered from his orgasm, Hodges reached out to grasp Greg's penis and lend a helping hand. It didn't take long for Greg to come; when he did, Hodges drank in the sight like a man dying of thirst. Most of Greg's semen ended up on Hodges' stomach and hand, but some managed to stray even further. When Greg had finally ridden out his final wave of pleasure, he drooped bonelessly onto the trace technician's chest.

The two of them lay there, gasping for breath, for what felt like a very long time.

"Is it okay if I sleep here?" Greg asked, finally deciding to break the silence.

Hodges ran a hand over the Norwegian's back, letting it roam the smooth expanse of skin like an explorer discovering new land. "As long as you don't ask me for sex when we wake up."

Greg pressed their foreheads together and smiled. "I won't. I promise."


	8. Porn Poms and Pipe Bombs

If David Hodges was one thing, it was a private person—or a kiss-ass, depending who you talked to. In regards to intimately personal matters, however, he was hard-pressed to confer with anyone. But today he was breaking that rule for the sake of Greg Sanders.

Yeah. Go figure.

Nick had been in the lab's garage for most of his shift, processing a car that had just come in for the case he was working on. It was there that Hodges decided to approach him, so they would at least be ensured some measure of privacy.

"Nick?"

At the sound of his name, Nick turned around from inside the passenger's seat. A loud _thud _echoed through the room when he bumped his head on the doorframe.

"Goddammit Hodges, what is it?" he bristled, rubbing the top of his head.

"I'm guessing Greg didn't say anything to you about what happened yesterday," he began awkwardly. At Nick's look of confusion, he continued, "Okay, that would be a definite no." Rather uneasily, he went on to describe to Nick the events of the previous day, specifically the odd way that Greg was acting.

When he finished, Nick stared blankly at him. "You're fucking kidding me." The CSI pressed a hand to his temple, looking as though he was suffering from a particularly bad migraine. "I can't believe he ran off to you."

Hodges raised an eyebrow. "Really, you're surprised?" he asked dryly. "After what you did to his wrists?"

The Texan set down the jar of print powder in his hand, glaring angrily at Hodges. "Let's get this straight," he replied sharply. "Don't pretend you know what goes on between the two of us just because we fucked you once. That was a one-time thing—it doesn't make this a ménage à trois."

"Hey, I never said that. And all I know is what Greg tells me. That's why I came to you," said Hodges. "I want to know what you said or did that made him want to use my dick as a torture device."

Irritably, the CSI placed his hands on his hips. "He did it to prove a point. I wouldn't fuck him bareback, so he went to you because he knew you would," Nick explained. "Speaking of which, don't _ever_ do that again or I'll cut your dick off and feed it to Grissom's bug collection."

Hodges frowned. "It wasn't just about the barebacking, though. He wouldn't let me do anything to make it easier on him—he wanted to hurt himself, Nick. Tell me what happened."

"Since when is it any of your business?"

"Since Greg started using me to hurt himself," Hodges retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now spill the beans."

Nick grit his teeth. "Alright. I may have sort of... insinuated that he's too skinny." When the trace technician shot him an incredulous look, Nick added, "Hodges, he's skin and bones for Christ's sake! I was worried about him."

"So you accuse him of being manorexic? Way to go," Hodges chided. He couldn't believe Nick had really said that—no wonder Greg was a wreck.

"Don't," Nick fumed. "Just don't." He reached up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "This isn't your problem, okay? I'll deal with it."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating about him being skin and bones?" Hodges asked. Contemplating it himself, he'd never considered Greg to be overly skinny in any way. It was probably just Nick being paranoid.

"No," Nick said resolutely. "And I should really get back to work, if you don't mind." Grabbing his print powder, he ducked back into the car and picked up where he left off. Knowing there wasn't much else to say, Hodges sighed and headed back to his lab.

On the way there, his mind kept reverting back to images from the previous night. All of Greg's behaviour seemed to make more sense now that Hodges had the right context to put it in. They still weren't rational actions by any means, but at least he was able to understand them better. That was something, at least.

* * *

Greg balanced the cardboard box full of groceries precariously on his knee. His other hand fished around in his pocket for his keys, which seemed determined to evade his grasp.

When he finally managed to get the door open and set the heavy box down inside his apartment, he was greeted by the alluring smell of home-cooked food. The aroma was part garlic bread, part pasta of some kind—one whiff and Greg's mouth was already watering.

The young CSI glanced curiously into his kitchen and found Nick standing in front of the stove with a pair of oven mitts on.

"Nick?" Greg asked, setting his keys down on the counter. "What's going on?"

The Texan spun around, smiling as his eyes fell upon his lover. "Hey, you're home," he said happily, sliding off the oven mitts. He hurried over to Greg, drawing the younger man into a warm embrace. "I thought I'd make dinner. I let myself in with the spare key... hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not." When Nick went back to the stove, Greg hauled his box of groceries over to the kitchen and started putting them in the fridge. "I thought you were working tonight?"

"Nope. I got Sara to cover my shift," he explained, helping Greg put away some of the food. "I wanted to spend some time with you."

Greg rose to his feet awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He didn't like the idea of Nick ditching work just to spend time with him—he knew how busy the swing shift had been lately with various cases. "And Catharine was okay with that?" he questioned, staring dubiously at his lover.

"Didn't even notice," Nick laughed. "Her and Warrick are too wrapped up in that shooting off the strip."

"Well... lucky you." Greg placed the last of the groceries into the fridge and kicked the door closed behind him. He was too preoccupied to notice Nick frowning at him. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he mumbled, heading for the bathroom.

Nick looked crestfallen. For a moment, he bit his lip as though deep in thought, then suddenly blurted out, "Greg, stop." The young CSI froze in the bathroom doorway and turned around. "I can feel you pulling away," Nick told him sadly.

"Good. Then I wasn't too subtle."

Nick's face hardened. Hurt presented deeply in his eyes. "If this is because of what I said the other day..." he began, crossing the apartment to stand in front of Greg. "I'm sorry, Greggo. If I knew it would affect you like this, I never would have said anything."

Greg sighed. "I probably would have done the same thing in your position," he admitted. "But I _don't_ have an eating disorder. And it's not even about that."

"Then what?" Nick asked. He was drawing a complete blank.

Silently, Greg leaned against the bathroom doorframe. The distant look in his eyes spoke volumes before he even uttered a single word. "Isn't it obvious?" he finally responded. "It's about Hodges." Instantly—and without even realizing that he was doing it—Nick scowled. "I'm still seeing him."

"Yeah. He told me."

Greg's head shot up in surprise. "What?" he deadpanned. "What did he tell you?"

"Everything," Nick said with resolve. "I'm not judging you Greggo, I just want some answers, okay?" The Texan reached up to brush the back of his fingers tenderly against Greg's cheek. "Why did you need him to hurt you like that?"

The expression on Greg's face was akin to that of a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. For a moment, he fidgeted uncomfortably under Nick's scrutiny, but the man's touch seemed to calm him down slightly.

"After fighting with you," Greg began, "I just felt so _empty_. Maybe I wanted to punish myself. Maybe I just wanted pain. I don't know—I wasn't thinking." Gently, he took Nick's hand away from his face and placed it over his heart. The older man's breath hitched as he felt Greg's slow, steady heartbeat under his palm. "I wish he hadn't told you," Greg added regretfully.

"Why?"

"I'm ashamed," he admitted, staring down at the floor. "This part of myself that acts like a stubborn two year old and does stupid things... it's not something I want to share with anyone. Especially people I respect."

Nick felt Greg's heart rate increase slightly with his confession. He didn't think it was possible for the young man to appear _more_ endearing at that moment. Going with what his instincts were telling him, Nick pulled his lover into a tight hug. "Don't ever feel like you have to hide who you are from me, Greggo. Whether it be a stubborn two year old, a porn connoisseur, or a guy that didn't lose his virginity until he was twenty-two," Nick told him.

Greg gave a wheezy laugh, resting his head on Nick's shoulder. "How'd you know when I lost my virginity?" he asked, smiling.

"Sara told me." Chuckling, Greg rolled his eyes. "Now why don't you go have your shower and then we'll eat," Nick proposed, pressing a soft kiss to the young man's forehead. Greg nodded and headed into the bathroom.

With their tension seemingly resolved, Nick was able to breathe much easier. Watching Greg pull away had been torture—he cared far too much about the young CSI to see that happen. The only variable still running wild in the equation was Hodges. Nick had no idea what to do. Should he try and get Hodges to back off? Tell him to stay away from Greg? Somewhere in the back of Nick's mind, he knew that it wasn't up to him what happened between Greg and Hodges. If his lover wanted to fuck the other man, there was really nothing he could do about it.

Perhaps the solution wasn't to shut Hodges out, but rather, to include him. Nick still wasn't sure how he felt about the idea, but it was something to think about at least.

Heading over to the kitchen, he fiddled with the dials on the stove to make sure the food was ready by the time Greg was done in the shower. Lucky for Nick, he was an excellent chef—he'd just set the pasta out on the table when Greg wandered out of the steamy bathroom. Hair still wet, he was clad in a pair of plaid boxers and a t-shirt that read _I support single moms_,with a picture of a stripper dancing on a pole.

"That looks really good," Greg delighted, making a beeline for the table. Nick headed back from the kitchen with a plate of garlic bread in hand. He set it down between the two of them as Greg took his seat. After a trip to the fridge to grab them both a beer, Nick sat down as well. Greg was already helping himself to the pasta.

"I can't believe you never told me you cook," he said, scooping a forkful of pasta into his mouth. The expression that came over his face as he tasted the food was pure bliss.

Nick smiled, waiting until Greg was finished to fill up his own plate. "I thought I'd make it a surprise."

"Well you did a damn good job, I'll tell you that," Greg laughed, cracking open his beer. "I'm hoping this means I won't be eating take-out anymore."

"As long as you're a good boy," joked Nick. He watched on curiously as his lover downed nearly half of his beer in one go.

Greg set the bottle down on the table, shaking his head. "Don't start teasing me now," he warned, taking another bite of pasta. "This food is already giving me a boner."

That flattering sentiment made Nick chuckle. If Greg was never short on one thing, it was compliments—either that or humour. Those were some of the things Nick enjoyed about him. "I wasn't aware that calling you a good boy was considered teasing, but I'll keep that in mind for next time," he said. Smiling adoringly, the Texan contented himself for the remainder of the meal by watching Greg eat.

Once they were stuffed, both men reclined in their seats. Greg heaved a satisfied sigh.

"I think I just fell in love," he lilted, a goofy smile on his face. Nick flicked his beer cap at Greg from across the table, but the young man ducked out of it's path and stuck out his tongue at Nick. "I should clean up the dishes. You did cook for me, after all."

"I have a better idea," Nick said, just as Greg had been about to rise from his seat. He cast a crafty glance at his lover. "Still have that boner?"

"What?" A bewildered look crossed Greg's face.

Nick rose to his feet, shoving his chair backward with a loud screech. He pushed all the plates and empty beer bottles on the table to one side, clearing a large space on the wooden surface. Greg still hadn't clued in to what Nick was doing—the baffled expression on his face remained.

Deciding to further illustrate his intent, Nick strolled around to the side of the table and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it at Greg.

"Oh." Greg pulled Nick's discarded shirt away from his face, letting it slip to the floor beside his chair. He let out a whooping laugh and stood up. "I should have known that's what you wanted," he stated with a wink. Following Nick's lead, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and then proceeded to assault the man's lips with his own.

Nick chuckled into his mouth at Greg's eagerness. He wasn't sure how or why, but it _never_ got old; the young man's impatience still charmed him equally each time. That was part of Greg's magic, Nick supposed—he could make even a personality trait like impatience attractive.

Brusquely, Nick lifted Greg up by the hips and sat him on the edge of the table. Then, he let his hands wander from those slender hips to cup Greg's ass, earning an unexpected squeak from the young CSI.

"Still an ass man," Greg observed, smirking. He let his lips drop down to Nick's neck, which he lavished with a string of light kisses. While he was busy with the man's neck, he reached down to unbuckle Nick's belt, and then afterwards attacked his fly with familiarity.

"Of course," Nick concurred, giving a playful pinch for emphasis. "Once an ass man, always an ass man." Once Greg finished with his fly, Nick pushed both his jeans and boxers down to the floor and stepped out of them. The only remaining article of clothing on either one of them—Greg's boxers—were next to go. As soon as they'd been tossed on top of the growing clothing pile on the floor, Greg gazed up at the man in front of him.

"When we were eating dinner, were you thinking about fucking me on this table?"

Nick stared at him deviously. "What do you think?" he asked. That was answer enough for Greg. He grinned to himself and leaned back onto the table while Nick hurried into the bedroom for necessary supplies.

"Uh, Greggo?" he heard a moment later. Nick emerged from the bedroom with lube and a condom in one hand, and a clear plastic object in the other. "What's this?" he asked, holding up the item for Greg to see.

Greg's face grew hot. "That's, uh..." he started awkwardly, "that's a cock ring." Nick stared at the object with new insight, then looked up at his lover questioningly. "It vibrates," Greg added sheepishly.

Curiously, Nick pressed the small button on the top of the ring. To his surprise it did indeed vibrate. A moment later, a smile spread across Nick's face as though he were sharing a private joke with himself.

Greg propped himself up on his elbows. "Nick?" he asked. "Something you'd like to share?"

Still smiling, Nick hurried back over to the table. He opened the lube and poured a small amount into his palm. Before Greg had the chance to repeat his question, Nick wrapped his hand around the young man's penis, spreading the lube over his hardened flesh.

A soft breath escaped Greg's lips as the cold substance made contact with his skin. Once Nick had spread it around evenly, the Texan held up the cock ring and winked.

"I hope you're ready for a wild ride," he said, slowly slipping the ring onto Greg's erection. The young CSI threw his head back, groaning, as the cold plastic squeezed him from all directions. "I can't wait to see you writhing in pleasure when I turn this thing on."

Greg let his head fall back against the table. "Nicky—it's really tight," he whimpered, reaching up to touch Nick's chest. "I won't be able to come until you take it off."

Nick reached for the lube again, this time slicking his fingers to prepare Greg. "Well I like the sound of that," he chuckled, slipping two fingers inside his lover. Greg keened and bucked up at him. "Want me to touch your sweet spot, Greggo?"

"Mmm, yeah." Greg licked his lips.

After a moment of probing, Nick found what he was looking for. A strong shudder went through Greg's body when the Texan tweaked the sensitive pleasure receptor underneath his fingertip. He soon added another finger and probed the spot again, making Greg squirm and moan. It was the most beautiful sight Nick had ever seen.

Feeling in a particularly voyeuristic mood, Nick reached up with his other hand and turned on the vibrating function of the cock ring. Greg made a glorious, startled noise that was half moan half yelp and grabbed onto the edge of the table for support.

"You better get inside me right now," he grit, face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. His cock was already swollen and leaking pre-come.

"Really? Maybe I should leave you here like this for a while, make you sweat it out a bit."

"No, Nicky!" Greg exclaimed, seizing the man's arm. "Please, I feel like I'm gonna come already..."

"How hard are you, Greggo? Tell me," Nick coaxed.

"_So _hard." He bucked his hips onto Nick's fingers. "God, it hurts... please Nick."

Feeling that he'd tortured the young man enough for now, Nick decided to oblige Greg's wishes. Removing his fingers, he put on the condom, positioned himself between the Norwegian's legs and pulled him closer to the edge of the table.

When Nick finally slid inside, it was to the relief of both parties. Nick moaned, while Greg's eyes screwed shut and his mouth opened in a silent cry. They stayed that way for a moment while Greg adjusted to the intrusion, then Nick slowly began to move.

"Oh... my... god..." Greg panted, glancing down at clear plastic ring still vibrating around the base of his cock. "I've never used this during sex."

"Do you use it to masturbate?" Nick asked. His lover gave a sharp nod in response. "Tell me how you do it."

Greg whimpered brokenly. "I put it on while I stroke my cock," he answered, just as Nick thrust home. "Oh fuck. I can't talk dirty, it's turning me on too much..."

The older man chuckled. "Then I'll have to do it for you," Nick said, a wild glimmer in his eyes. "I bet it feels amazing when you put it on, all those vibrations going through your cock. Maybe you finger yourself too while it's vibrating. I bet that makes you really hard."

"Ohh Jesus Nick..."

"Such a little slut, aren't you?" Greg nodded, a desperate look in his eyes. "You spread your legs for me, you spread your legs for Hodges... you'll do anything to please, won't you?" Again, Greg nodded. He loved the way Nick humiliated him. "But most of all," Nick went on, thrusting harder, "you crave _my_ cock. You love the way I feel when I'm inside you. You can't get enough of it. Isn't that right?"

"Nick!" Greg yelled, writhing on the table, "take it off, I need to come."

"Not yet, Greggo."

A string of desperate, keening noises broke free of Greg's throat. His face was flushed with exertion and his wet hair clung to his forehead. The volume of his moans increased until his voice started to go slightly hoarse.

"Take it off," he begged. "I can't take it anymore, I need to come!" Greg started to reach for the cock ring himself, but the Texan grabbed his arm and pinned it to the table.

"Don't you dare," Nick warned. "I say when it comes off."

"No... _please_ Nick, I'll do anything! Please let me come..." Greg glanced down desperately at the cock ring. There was a pool of pre-come on his stomach near the tip of his penis, which had turned purple.

"Okay, Greggo. I'll let you come if you tell me what a little slut you are. And make it good."

Greg stared up at him frantically. "I'm a slut, Nicky. I'd do anything for your cock. I like it when you humiliate me and I get so hard when I tell you about what I've done with Hodges," Greg told him, writhing and bucking to meet Nick as he fucked him. "He made me suck him off in his car, and like a good little slut I did it. He even cockslapped me Nicky, and I fucking loved it."

Nick felt his jaw drop. He couldn't believe how arousing it was to hear Greg talk that way.

"_Please_," Greg howled, "_let me come_."

After recovering from his temporary shock, Nick reached down and slowly removed the cock ring from around Greg's penis. As soon as it was off, the young man screamed and arched his back, exploding forcefully all over his chest. All Nick could think was _holy shit_ as he watched Greg's chest heave against the table, still shuddering in the aftershock of his orgasm.

After a sight like that, Nick was tipped over the edge as well. It only took a few more thrusts for him to come, which he did with one deep, final thrust inside his lover.

"Greg?" Nick asked tentatively. Still breathing heavily, the young man opened his eyes slowly and stared at Nick. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

The corners of Greg's mouth turned upwards in the tiniest of smiles. "No," he said hoarsely, "you did the opposite."


	9. Crippled Plaything

Partway through his shift, Hodges' workload was already a mile long. He had a laser ablation to perform for Nick and Warrick, pool water to analyze for Grissom, and paint scrapings to identify for Catharine—he was definitely not a happy camper, which, naturally, he made known to everyone who stepped into his lab.

He was staring at his computer monitor when Catharine stopped by, inquiring about the status of her paint chips.

"Didn't I say I'd page you with the results?" Hodges bristled, eyes still fixed on the screen. He was currently running the paint colour through their database looking for a hit.

Catharine crossed her arms over her chest. "Guess I'll just wait," she told him, hovering over his shoulder.

Luckily, she wasn't there to annoy him for very long before the search pulled up what they were looking for. "Looks like you lucked out," Hodges stated. "Your paint colour is called Hunter Green, unique to Chrysler." On the screen, he clicked the print button and the results began printing out. "The colour was only used for three years, and only on Jeeps—so the car you're looking for is either a 96, 97 or 98 Grand Cherokee."

Catharine grabbed the piece of paper from the printer and examined it fervently. "Thanks Hodges," she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "And by the way, nice going with Greg. No idea how you swung that, but congrats." Winking discreetly, she turned and headed out of the lab, leaving Hodges with a bewildered expression on his face.

Despite his massive workload, there was no way Hodges could let that comment slip by without question. After yanking off his gloves and tossing them aside, he tracked Catharine down in the hallway.

"Cath, would you mind repeating that?" he asked, following her into the deserted layout room.

"I would suggest getting tinted windows if you're trying to keep things a secret. Either that or park somewhere else," she said with a smile. Hodges started to feel a bit queasy. "Cheer up, Hodges—I haven't told a soul, I swear." Jokingly, she raised her hands in the air.

"Well, that's comforting." His tone was pure sarcasm.

"Pardon my curiosity, but how'd you finally land him after all this time? I was under the impression Greg's type had longer hair and bigger boobs."

Hodges glanced down at his chest. "Are you saying my boobs are too small?"

Catharine smiled and rolled her eyes. "Not what I meant, Hodges," she said, setting down the trace report on the paint chips. "But for the record, yours are just right."

"Oh, good." He looked back up happily. "I'm not really sure Greg has a type other than human. As long as it falls within that category he'd probably like it." Catharine laughed, nodding. "Believe it or not," Hodges went on, "he was the one that approached me."

She cast him an incredulous look. "You're kidding!"

The trace technician placed a hand on his hip. "In case you haven't noticed, Catharine, I'm quite the catch," he stated, running the other hand over his hair. "It was only a matter of time before Greg fell for my many charms."

"Yeah, alright," she laughed, shooing him out of the layout room. "I think it's time to get back to work Mr. Romance."

When Catharine unceremoniously closed the door in his face, Hodges merely shrugged and wandered back to his lab. When he got there, however; he was greeted by the unexpected sight of Nick sitting at his desk.

"Uh, may I help you?" Hodges asked, wondering why Nick looked so damn comfortable in his chair.

The Texan swivelled around to stare at him. "There you are; it's about time. Do you have me and Warrick's—?"

"I said I would page you with the results. Why does everyone have such a hard time understanding that?" the trace technician huffed. He glared angrily at the man occupying his seat. "Laser ablation takes a long time, Stokes—and I'm only one person in case you've forgotten."

Nick crossed his arms over his chest. "I bet when Greg comes in here, you make _his_ samples a priority."

Hodges frowned. "If you're not happy with the way I work, feel free to do the test yourself," he challenged.

"Maybe I will." Nick rose from Hodges' chair with the air of a man on a mission. He snatched up his samples, which sat in a plastic evidence container on the desk, and headed over to the laser ablation machine.

The notion of having to share his lab for any extended period of time was not exactly an appealing thought. Nick would probably end up doing the test wrong anyway, but Hodges wasn't going to stop him. Hopefully it would teach the stubborn CSI to leave things up to a professional.

Sighing, Hodges slipped his gloves back on and got to work comparing Grissom's pool water against the water found in his victim's lungs. He tried fiercely to ignore the other man's presence in his lab, which seemed to work temporarily—at least, until Nick invaded his space to borrow a pair of scissors.

"Do you mind?" Hodges bristled, staring daggers at the other man.

"Hey, you're the one that said to do it myself," he reminded the lab tech. "Excuse me if I'm sick of waiting around for you to get started." Nick snatched the scissors off Hodges' desk and proceeded back to the other side of the room. "All you do is run samples in this same room all day. You have no idea what it's like to have an entire case resting on your shoulders," Nick told him.

"Really? So you're denying that my work has broken cases in the past?"

Nick frowned, staring down at his samples. "There's a huge difference between running tests in a lab and collecting bloody skull fragments at a crime scene, Hodges. You'd probably shit yourself at half the things I've seen on this job."

"I've been out in the field before. Remember?"

"Maybe once or twice. But not at the triple hacksaw murders Sara and I covered a few years back. The blood was literally an inch and a half deep in the entire laundry room," Nick protested, glancing over his shoulder at Hodges. The man had a small vial of water in his hand, which he was placing into one of the machines on his desk.

"So what's your point—that you're the bigger man because you've seen more dismembered bodies?" Hodges asked sarcastically.

An irritated expression appeared on Nick's face. "All I'm saying is that being busy in the lab pales in comparison to being busy in the field. You really have nothing to complain about here."

Hodges smirked. "Then I guess I picked the better occupation, didn't I?"

"If by better you mean far less rewarding and infinitely more tedious, then I guess so." When, predictably, Hodges spun around and glared at Nick, the Texan merely smiled. "It is so easy to rile you, Davy," he teased.

The two of them continued their staring match until interrupted by Warrick's presence in the room. He paused in the doorway and pulled a face.

"Guys... what's going on?" he asked, glancing from Hodges to his best friend with the utmost puzzlement. "Nick, did you rearrange his workstation again?"

Nick shook his head, finally breaking eye contact with the trace technician. "No," he said. When it looked like Warrick didn't believe him, he added, "Really, I didn't this time."

"Why are you running your own test, then?"

"He was taking too long," Nick stated, gesturing toward the grey-haired man.

Warrick's expression went from puzzled to suspicious. Again, he glanced from one man to the other. "There's something the two of you aren't telling me, but frankly I don't even want to know." He turned back toward the doorway. "Page me when the test is done," he told Nick before he was out of earshot.

"Nice one," Hodges sneered once he was gone. "You may as well have told him I sucked your dick."

Nick slammed down the evidence container in his hand and glared at the trace tech murderously. "One more comment, Hodges, and I won't be responsible for any bodily harm that comes to you."

Hodges rolled his eyes. "Even _you're_ not stupid enough to attack me in my own lab, Stokes—no matter how badly you might want to. That would be an immediate suspension."

"There isn't a single person in this lab that hasn't wanted to punch you in the face at some point," Nick informed him, making the grey-haired man frown. "Even Ecklie would be sympathetic, so don't push your luck."

A long moment passed in which Hodges merely stared at the CSI invading his lab. He wondered what might happen if he were to kick Nick out of the room. Aside from having a bit more elbow room, probably nothing good. In the long run, it would cause more problems than it would solve—and more problems were the last thing Hodges needed just then. It looked as though he would simply have to suffer in silence for the time being.

Sighing dramatically, he turned back to his work. What seemed like a long stretch of time passed wherein he and Nick refused to speak to one another. After a while, it almost became a game of 'whoever breaks the silence first, loses' and despite the innate childishness of the situation, Hodges was determined not to lose.

He'd just printed out the results of Grissom's water sample comparison when the bearded man himself strolled into the lab.

"Hodges," he greeted politely, heading toward him. Upon noticing the other man in the room, he added in a surprised tone, "Nick. Good to see you."

"Hey Gris," said the Texan, glancing up from the laser ablation machine. "I'm actually just about to take a break. This thing takes forever."

Grissom nodded graciously, watching as the other CSI pulled off his lab coat and headed out into the hallway. Once he'd gone, Grissom stepped up to Hodges' desk. "You paged?" he asked.

"I tested all your samples against the water found in the vic's lungs," he explained, handing the printout to Grissom. "Looks like the pool your victim drowned in was the one owned by Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster. Aside from chlorine, I also found bromide and cyanuric acid in the sample. Cyanuric acid is fairly common in outdoor pools; it's used as a stabilizing agent to keep the chlorine from degrading under ultraviolet light. The bromide, however, is typically an alternative sanitizer for people who don't use chlorine."

"Having both in the same pool would be unnecessary," Grissom commented. "It would make the pH level very acidic."

"Precisely."

A look of sudden discovery appeared on Grissom's face. "The victim had several patches of irritated skin on her body. Doc Robbins wasn't sure what had caused them, but this might account for it. Did you check to see what the pH level was in the water?"

"I did indeed," Hodges boasted, handing Grissom another sheet of paper. "On the pH scale, most pools are about a seven, which is a perfect balance between too acidic and too alkaline. This one was sitting at a one."

Grissom stared at the sheet of paper. "So the low pH level could have caused the irritation..."

Hodges nodded. "Most definitely," he replied, leaning against his desk.

Not a moment later, Grissom was already heading out the door. "I'd better run this over to Doc Robbins," he stated. "Thanks, David."

"Anytime," he answered, watching the supervisor hurry down the hallway and out of sight.

"Is it weird that I enjoy watching you grovel at Grissom's feet?" said a familiar voice from the doorway. Expecting to see Nick, Hodges was instead surprised by the sight of Greg, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His hair, messy as always, looked particularly attractive that day—he'd clearly just gotten it trimmed. Hodges had to consciously stop himself from staring like an idiot.

"It's called doing my job, Sanders," he quipped. "I don't grovel."

Greg stepped into the room with a smirk on his face, moving to stand beside Hodges' desk. "I bet I could make you."

"Is there a work-related reason for you being here, or did you just come to tease me where I can't do anything about it?"

The young CSI smiled, a devious look twinkling in his eyes. "The latter, of course."

"And you're not scared of what I might decide to do to you once I get you alone somewhere?" Hodges asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Greg chuckled. "Not in the least," he divulged. "In fact, I'm looking forward to it." When Hodges lifted his eyes to meet Greg's, he found two brown orbs filled with desire staring back at him. "I want to give you something," Greg told him.

"Sanders, we're at work—"

"No, I didn't mean sex." He reached into one of his pockets and extracted a small metal object, holding it out to the other man. "The key to my apartment," he said. "Let yourself in after your shift and I'll meet you there later."

Hodges wasn't sure what to say. He'd never been given a key to someone else's place before. Slowly, he nodded.

"Good. Then I'll see you there, _darling_," Greg cooed. With a wink, he left the trace lab. Hodges told himself not to stare at the young man's ass while he departed, but he did anyway.

It was a couple minutes later that Nick finally returned from his break. Evidently, their game was still going on—he shot the trace technician an irritated glare as he slipped a pair of gloves on, but said nothing. Hodges didn't even care. Feeling like he was on cloud nine, he fingered Greg's key in the pocket of his lab coat and smiled.

* * *

Nick had long since made himself comfortable on the couch. With a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, he was all set to watch an episode of Flight of the Conchords when he heard a key turn in the apartment door.

He glanced enquiringly at the clock. It was only seven in the morning—far too early for Greg to be off shift. That ruled him out. But who else would have key to Greg's apartment?

Nick's question was answered when the door opened to reveal a familiar male silhouette in a tidy, button-up shirt. Ironically, the revelation that it was Hodges at the door seemed to raise more questions than it answered. Nick sat up, immediately alert.

"What are you doing here?" he asked from the living room.

The trace technician's head shot up in surprise, as though he hadn't expected anyone—let alone Nick—to be in the apartment. When his gaze zeroed in on Nick, he closed the door behind him and set his bag down in the entryway. "I was invited, believe it or not," he sneered, staring haughtily at the CSI.

Nick frowned. Something definitely wasn't right. "Greg didn't tell me he gave you a key."

Casually, Hodges shuffled over to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. "If he invited both of us here, I'm assuming this is how he intended to break the news," he stated.

"What, you think Greg planned this on purpose?"

Hodges shrugged. "If the shoe fits..."

"Yeah, but why?" Nick took a swig of his beer. "What's the point?"

"Maybe he's hoping for another threesome," Hodges said with a wink.

Nick paled. "Please tell me you're joking. I was ready to kick your teeth in not two hours ago—even Greg has to know how unlikely another threesome would be." He glanced down at his cell phone, which sat on the couch beside him. For a moment he contemplated calling Greg, but decided against it.

"If you _were_ ready to kick my teeth in, does that mean past tense only?" Hodges inquired, wandering into the living room. He sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Nick.

"I guess so," the Texan admitted. "It's tiring wanting to beat you up all the time. I need a break once in a while."

Hodges scoffed loudly. "Yeah, it must be so tiring hating someone that doesn't even deserve it."

"Hey, wait a minute—I never said anything about hating you," Nick cut in, frowning. "Hate is a strong word, man. I tend to reserve it for pedophiles and murderers."

The trace technician knit his brow. "If that was supposed to be a compliment, it sure didn't feel like one." He took a sip of his water and then set the glass down on the coffee table, eyeing Nick as though he expected the man to attack him at any moment.

"You can relax, Hodges. I'm not going to jump you."

The grey-haired man remained ill at ease. "I don't buy it," he said. "Now that we're not at work you could probably do anything you want and get away with it, so excuse me for being concerned."

"Quit being so paranoid," Nick told him, staring at the TV screen. "If I wanted to beat you to a pulp I would've done it by now."

"That's reassuring."

Nick shrugged, grabbing the remote. "Hodges, if you're planning on staying, I'm going to insist that you shut up." To demonstrate his seriousness, Nick cranked up the volume on the TV in hopes of drowning out whatever rebuttal Hodges was plotting.

It seemed to work, too. The other man merely crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into the couch. A faintly offended look passed over his face, but he made no move to reply in any way. Nick couldn't help but smile inwardly.

Minutes passed that way, with the two of them sharing an awkward but bearable silence. Nick soon engrossed himself in the TV show and forgot all about Hodges' presence in the room. He was even able to relax a little, which was aided of course by the empty beer bottles that kept collecting in front of him on the coffee table. Before he knew it, two turned into four, four turned into six, and six turned into eight. By his tenth beer, it was obvious that Nick was feeling no pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hodges staring at him worriedly, but as had become his mantra, the Texan ignored him.

However, his pleasant drunken mood was soon interrupted by the annoying sound of Hodges' cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. Nick observed in silence as Hodges flipped it open and read the text message. The look on the man's face said the message had taken him by surprise—but there was something else present as well. For a split-second, Nick was sure he saw an undercurrent of carnal interest flicker through Hodges' eyes. It was arousal—he was certain of it.

"Sexting, Hodges?" Nick teased, muting the volume on the TV.

"No," he retorted. Nick could tell he'd hit the nail on the head; Hodges' tone sounded far too defensive for an innocent party.

Before Hodges knew what was happening, Nick was scooting over on the couch toward him. "I'll take that," the Texan said, reaching for the man's cell phone.

Instinctively, Hodges jerked his hand out of Nick's reach. He backed himself away from Nick on the couch, but even that wasn't enough to deter the CSI. Nick continued scooting closer until he'd backed Hodges up against the arm rest.

"You're drunk, Nick. You wouldn't be doing this otherwise," Hodges protested, still holding the phone out of Nick's reach.

The CSI frowned. "What did Greg text you?"

"What makes you think it's Greg?" Hodges asked, pulling his knees up in front of him to use as a shield between himself and Nick. "It could be anyone."

"It's Greg; I know it is. You wouldn't get that look in your eyes over just anyone." Nick made another sudden bid for the cell phone, but Hodges kept it just out of his grasp. "Give me the phone, Hodges. You can't fight me off forever."

"But that's what you want, isn't it?" Hodges cast him a shrewd look. "I think I'm starting to get a handle on your perversions, Stokes. You like being on top, being in control. Everything's a power play with you. Just another way to exert your dominance... over me, over Greg. I bet that's why you really gave Greg those bruises—so everyone, especially _me_, would know that he's yours."

Unexpectedly, Nick slapped a hand over Hodges' mouth. The look in his eyes sent a chill down the trace technician's spine. "You're damn right, David," he declared. "I do like being in control." Without hesitation, Nick snatched the cell phone out of the man's hand. Hodges' angry reply was muffled by the CSI's hand over his mouth.

Nick stared at the screen, which was still open to the text message. It was indeed from Greg. "David," he began reading aloud, "when I get home I want you naked and waiting for me. Make sure your tight little ass is ready for a hard cock."

Slowly, Nick flipped the phone shut and tossed it aside. "Such a little slut, isn't he?" Nick asked, licking his lips. "All my Greggo can think about is sex. And you're not much better, are you Davy? I saw that bulge in your jeans when you read Greg's text."

Hodges reached up and dug his fingernails into Nick's hand, yanking it away from his mouth. "So what—you'd like me to lie on my back for you, Nick? Let you have your way with me until Greg gets home?" he said softly, then chuckled. "I don't think so. Maybe it's time someone put you in your place for a change."

"That sounds like a challenge." Nick smirked. "I didn't think you had it in you, Hodges."

The trace technician laughed. "Oh, you'd be surprised," he stated. Suddenly, he launched himself at Nick and knocked the other man onto his back on the couch. Nick wrestled with him for control, but Hodges straddled his thighs and was able to pin one of the CSI's hands above his head with the momentum of the attack.

"Not such a big man now, are you?" Hodges taunted. Before his gloating could last long, however, Nick's free hand reached up and seized the collar of the lab tech's trademark button-up shirt, twisting the fabric in his fist.

"Say that again, lab rat. I dare you." He kept his grip tight, even when Hodges' free hand tried to pry his shirt loose from the hold. While Hodges was distracted, Nick used what force he could and shoved the man away from him, sending him tumbling off the couch. Without missing a beat, Nick was right there on top of him, pinning Hodges to the floor.

Chuckling, he let one of his hands slide over the man's stomach to rest ominously on his belt buckle. "So what'll it be, sugar?" Nick asked. "Will you be a good boy for me?"

Hodges struggled against the CSI's hold. Nick relished the small sounds of exertion coming out of his mouth as he thrashed.

"_Fuck you_," Hodges snarled, frustration etched deeply into his voice. Despite the trace technician's best efforts, Nick was onto him. Smirking, the Texan rubbed his thigh against the hardness in Hodges' jeans.

"Stop playing coy. You want me inside you," Nick stated with a laugh. Momentarily, he glanced up from Hodges' flushed face and was startled to see Greg standing in the doorway to the apartment. When their eyes met, something electric passed through the connection.

"Nicky?" Greg asked smoothly. "Is Hodges being a bad boy?" There was a voracious expression on the young man's face.

"Yes," Nick said with a smile, staring back down at the man writing underneath him. "Yes he is."


	10. The Worm Gets Its Wings

A few minutes later, Nick and Greg had moved Hodges from the living room to Greg's bedroom. They laid him out on the bed, still struggling, and Greg seized his arms while Nick held down his legs.

"You're not undressed yet, David," Greg said with mild disappointment. "I thought I told you to be naked when I got home."

Nick reached for the man's belt again. "That would be my fault," he said, pulling the belt open and unzipping the fly of his jeans. "Hodges fancied he was going to fuck me, so I had to teach him a little lesson."

Greg looked genuinely surprised. "What? Is that true?"

Slowly, Hodges nodded, glaring at Nick. "He thinks he doesn't take it up the ass, but I would've changed his mind."

In one fell swoop, Nick yanked off the trace technician's jeans and boxers. Two pairs of eyes simultaneously fixed on his cock.

"And I'm about to change yours," Nick replied, pulling his t-shirt over his head. "Once I'm inside that tight little ass, you'll be moaning my name and begging me to fuck you harder."

"Mmm," Greg breathed, glancing up at his lover. "Do it Nicky. I want to watch."

"Oh, you're gonna do more than watch," Nick told him. "I want you to strip and put on the cock ring."

"Again?" Greg asked, looking slightly apprehensive.

"Don't make me force it on you, Greg."

The young CSI stood up from the bed immediately. "Alright, alright," he said, yanking off his shirt. For the moment, Hodges seemed to have stopped struggling. Both he and Nick were enraptured watching Greg unzip his jeans and let them drop to the floor beside the bed. His boxers followed quickly after, until he was left standing before them naked as the day he was born.

Greg opened the top drawer of his bedside table and fished out the clear plastic cock ring. Slowly, he slipped it over the head of his erect penis and down to the base of his shaft.

"There. Happy?" he asked, staring at Nick.

"Very. Now get your ass over here and give me a kiss," Nick demanded, watching happily as Greg complied. Once back on the bed, the young man crawled into Nick's lap wantonly and pressed their lips together. What started out as a fairly chaste kiss soon turned into something rougher, more lustful. Hodges watched on in awe, feeling his cock harden further at the sight of Greg grinding into Nick's lap while the Texan's fingers fisted in messy hair.

"Still here, you know," Hodges said hoarsely, propping himself up on his elbows.

Greg broke the kiss to stare at their guest. "Can't wait to have Nick inside you, huh?" he asked, smirking at Hodges.

"That's not what I meant—"

"I don't blame you," Greg continued, cutting off the man's protest. "In fact, I'm a little jealous. How come you get to have all the fun?"

"Ask your boyfriend. He's the one that needs to prove his dominance over me." Hodges turned to the Texan. "Isn't that right, Stokes?"

Nick laughed haughtily. "It's called showing you who's the boss, David. Oh, and Greg," he said, glancing at the squirming boy in his lap, "don't worry. Hodges is going to fuck you while I fuck him." The young CSI's face lit up happily. He couldn't think of a more appealing notion. "Now why don't you turn on the cock ring and get in front of the two of us." Greg nodded enthusiastically and lifted himself out of Nick's lap.

As soon as Greg had rounded the bed, Nick's attention turned to the trace technician, who was laying frozen on his back. Knowing he was watching, Nick finished undressing himself, tossing his pants and boxers onto the floor beside the bed. Then, with a mischievous smirk on his face, he reached for Hodges' button up shirt and ripped it open, sending buttons flying in every direction. "Why don't you be a good boy, Hodges, and get on your knees for me," Nick told him, letting the man's wrecked shirt fall open to reveal the smooth, pale chest beneath.

For a moment, Hodges appeared torn between compliance and refusal. It was easy to see that he was turned on—his leaking cock was evidence enough of that—but there was still a part of him that longed to fight back. Truthfully, Nick didn't even mind. He could work with that.

"Alright Davy, let me make it easy for you," said Nick. Unexpectedly, the Texan grabbed hold of Hodges and attempted to flip him over. The trace technician was surprisingly submissive—he allowed Nick to manhandle him and even got up onto his knees willingly once he'd been rolled onto his stomach. "That's it," Nick encouraged, running his hand over Hodges' ass. Playfully, he smacked his palm against the smooth skin, earning a startled moan from the man.

Greg, who was watching the pair from in front of Hodges, had unconsciously begun to stroke himself.

"I don't see that cock ring on, Greg," Nick pointed out, casting a stern look at his lover.

Sighing, the young man did as he was told and turned the device on. Immediately, the vibrations made him whimper and throw his head back. Both Nick and Hodges greedily drank in the sight.

"Spank him again, Nicky," Greg panted. Smiling, Nick obliged, letting his hand come down a little harder this time on the creamy skin of their guest's ass. "The look on his face is so hot," said Greg, meeting David's eyes and finding lust there. "He wants you."

"Then I shouldn't keep him waiting, should I?"

Knowing where Nick was going with that statement, Greg seized the lube and a couple of condoms from his nightstand, handing them to his lover. Still fighting against the intensely arousing vibrations from the cock ring, Greg now also had to contest with the sight of Nick slicking his fingers with lube and sliding them inside of Hodges.

The noises Hodges made as Nick stretched him were some of the most erotic he had ever heard from the man. Soon enough, Hodges was trying to thrust himself further onto the CSI's fingers.

"Nick..." he keened, "just fuck me."

"So now you _want_ my cock?" The CSI chuckled triumphantly, making Hodges scowl. Authoritatively, Nick leaned down so that his lips were close to the man's ear. "I knew it wouldn't take much to break you down," he whispered huskily. For emphasis, his fingers tweaked Hodges' most sensitive spot, making the trace technician groan and grab desperately at the bed sheets.

"Quit teasing him Nicky, look how hard he is," Greg stated, sliding his bare foot underneath Hodges to stroke the man's swollen penis.

Agreeing that it was time to stop beating around the bush, Nick opened one of the condoms and slipped it on. He handed the other one to Greg, who tore the package open and placed it over their guest's cock. Smiling, Greg leaned back against the headboard, cock ring still vibrating around him, to watch the proceedings.

Nick got into position behind Hodges, one hand grasping the trace technician's hip, the other hand guiding the tip of his penis into the man's opening. Greg thought he was going to shoot his load right then and there at the simultaneous look of ecstasy that appeared on both men's faces.

"You were right last time, Greggo," Nick gasped, sliding in further. "It _is_ like fucking a virgin."

"That's 'cause I don't spread my legs for just anyone," said Hodges, smiling up at Greg.

Swiftly, Nick pushed in the rest of the way, completely sheathing himself inside of Hodges. When the man moaned a loud obscenity, the CSI licked his lips, which were already dry with desire. "You're damn right you don't," Nick snapped. "You belong to us now, Hodges—just like Greg belongs to me." Roughly, Nick pulled out, paused for a few moments, then plunged in again. "If you're a good boy for me tonight, I might even rephrase that sentence to say that Greg belongs to _us_. Would you like that?"

Desperately, Hodges nodded. "Nick, I want that. Please..."

"Tell me, David. Tell me what you want."

"I want you to say that Greg belongs to us," Hodges began, locking eyes with the subject of their desires. Teasingly, Greg's hand roamed over his own chest, pausing to pinch down hard on one of his nipples. "I want you to tell me that he's ours, that no one else can touch him, or fuck him, except for me and you..."

Greg suddenly had an idea. He grabbed the lube and slicked two of his fingers with it, then pressed them to his entrance. The look of desire in both men's eyes at the sight of Greg fingering himself was electric.

"Ohh shit," the young man moaned, digging his heels into the mattress. "Do you want me, David?" he asked, using his free hand to wiggle his cock in Hodges' direction. The fingers of his other hand continued working themselves inside of him.

"Yes. Fuck yes..." A loud moan escaped the trace technician's lips as Nick drilled into him from behind. "Get over here and ride my cock."

Greg's lips curled up into a smug grin. "Why, I'd be delighted," he said, removing his fingers from inside himself. Hurriedly, he got into position in front of Hodges with his ass up in the air and his head on the mattress. The pose left him very exposed to the man's hungry eyes, making Hodges smirk.

Mirroring what Nick had done to him earlier, Hodges let his hand come down hard on Greg's ass. The young CSI let loose a guttural moan laced with such pleasure that it startled Hodges.

"Oh yeah, I probably should have mentioned that he's really into spanking," Nick said with a laugh, still thrusting—albeit more gently—into their guest.

"Hit me again, David. Ohh, please..." Greg whined, burying his flushed face in the sheets. Hodges complied, spanking him a second, and then a third time in the same spot. Between the spanking and the cock ring, Greg was practically humping the mattress he was so turned on.

Hodges gazed in awe at the red welt that soon appeared on Greg's skin where he'd hit him. Gently, he ran his hand over the area, making the young man writhe.

"God, he's perfect," Hodges stated, seemingly to himself. It sounded almost as though he were thinking out loud without even realizing it. Still staring at Greg with rapt attention, Hodges' hands grabbed at Greg's ass and pulled the two milky cheeks apart, revealing the young man's small puckered hole slick with lube.

Nick's hands wrapped around the trace technician's torso to play with his nipples. The Texan smiled contentedly as the fleshy nubs instantly turned rock hard under his touch. "Yeah, he is, isn't he?" Nick cooed in Hodges' ear. "And he's all ours."

Wasting no time, the lab tech grasped his cock and brought it up to Greg's entrance.

"Go ahead, Davy. He's waiting for you," Nick coaxed, watching over Hodges' shoulder as the man pushed inside of Greg. At being penetrated, the young man made a highly pleasurable noise in the back of his throat.

Hodges, however, was over the moon. He'd never been in the middle of a sex sandwich before, let alone one as erotic as this. It was a few more moments before he was all the way inside Greg—at which point he already felt like he was going to come. Yet, when Nick asked if everyone was ready, then resumed his pace, the feeling only heightened. Nick's thrust into Hodges carried into Greg, making all three of them moan in unison. It was the most beautiful thing Hodges had ever taken part in.

"I bet the middle feels pretty damn good, doesn't it _sugar_?" Nick asked, playfully nipping at Hodges' earlobe. He then proceeded to trail wet kisses down the side of the man's neck, making the trace technician sigh in enjoyment. "Tell us what it feels like..."

Hodges licked his parched lips. "It just feels... so right," he declared, listening to Greg cry out sharply as Nick's violent thrust carried into him.

"This is where you're supposed to be," Greg whimpered, glancing over his shoulder at the two men behind him. "Here, with us." The young CSI was the picture of well-fucked—his face was flushed and sweat dripped down his forehead. All Hodges could think was that he looked absolutely perfect. Like an angel.

"Maybe it's selfish of us," Nick began, "but we don't want to share you with anyone else." Again, he plunged into the trace technician fiercely, making both Greg and Hodges moan. "You'll never want for anything ever again, David. I promise."

Compelled by the Texan's words, Hodges glanced over his shoulder and pressed his mouth to Nick's. The kiss was messy and heated, but it meant something much deeper than just lust to Hodges. It signified belonging, maybe even love. At the very least, it filled him with a sense of well-being that he wouldn't soon forget.

"Oh fuck, I need to come," Greg wailed, thrusting back onto Hodges' cock. Playfully, the trace technician gave him another slap on the ass, apparently zapping Greg's capacity for coherent speech. "Ohh, need... to... come," he panted. "Nicky _please_."

"Alright David, you can slip it off him," Nick permitted, observing over the man's shoulder as Hodges reached underneath Greg and pulled the cock ring off. Greg's hand immediately flew to his penis, which by that point was throbbing and painfully hard. One stroke later, he exploded onto the sheets, clutching Hodges' hand in a vice-like grip until his body finally stopped shuddering some time later.

Somewhere in the back of Hodges' mind, he knew he would never get tired of watching Greg's orgasms.

"Good boy, Greggo," said Nick, watching his lover's chest heave against the mattress. "I think you deserve a reward for being so well behaved for us."

Greg perked up immediately. "What kind of reward?"

"Patience, dear," Nick chuckled. "I'll tell you if you make David come."

"My pleasure." Slowly, Greg let Hodges' cock slip out of him. He pulled off the condom, then laid on his back with his head underneath the man's penis. Smiling up at Hodges, Greg suckled the tip into his mouth. The taste of pre-come overwhelmed his senses.

Soon enough, Hodges breathing became ragged. Nick continued thrusting, forcing Greg to take the man's cock deeper into his mouth.

"Ohh shit. _Greg_..." That was the only warning the young man received before Hodges was coming hard into his mouth. Feeling like putting on a particularly visceral display, Greg let the man's penis slip out of his mouth, causing the flood of semen to splash all over his face.

At that point, Hodges cried out even more roughly. Simultaneously, Nick dug his fingers into the trace technician's shoulders and drilled into him roughly, letting out an unearthly growl that signalled his release.

A few minutes later, one the room had settled, Greg poked his tongue out curiously and lapped at the sticky seminal fluid covering his face. "Do I get my reward now?" he asked, smiling innocently.

Slowly, Nick pulled out of Hodges, falling onto the mattress sleepily. "That _was_ your reward," he said, making the trace technician laugh.

Greg shot them both a dirty look. "So basically I debauched myself for nothing?"

"Of course not," Nick stated. "It was for our viewing pleasure. And believe me, we enjoyed it, Greggo."

Hodges nodded in agreement. To show his appreciation more thoroughly, he leaned over and pressed his lips to Greg's upside down. Not only was the taste of his come in the young man's mouth, but Hodges even came away with some of it smeared over his lips. Enticingly, he licked it off with his tongue, then pressed a chaste kiss to Greg's forehead.

"We should get him cleaned up," Hodges suggested, glancing over his shoulder at Nick. "What do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

The subsequent shower the three of them shared was hot and steamy—though it had little to do with the actual temperature of the water. After cleaning each other up, Hodges lined his two colleagues up against the wall of the shower and gave them each a blowjob they wouldn't soon forget.

By the time they were finished, Greg had nearly run out of hot water. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he wandered into the bedroom to change his sheets while Nick and Hodges dried each other off.

Hodges took special care to feel Nick up as much as possible while running the towel over his body. He was still amazed by the man's musculature—his strong, rugged build was so much different than that of Greg's pale, lithe form. Hodges found that he quite enjoyed the diversity.

Eventually, Nick caught on to what Hodges was up to and pinched him hard on the ass in retribution. Outwardly, the trace technician yelped and then tried to return the favour, but inwardly all he could do was smile.

* * *

The restaurant Hodges chose for lunch came as a surprise to both of his companions, who sat down almost warily at the table. As terrible as it sounded, neither of them expected him to have such good taste in fine dining.

In the past few weeks, Hodges had become shockingly adept at reading both Nick and Greg. He knew what they were thinking just then, but it didn't offend him in the least. They still harboured a few false notions about him—in particular, that he had weird taste in movies and that his board games sucked—but Hodges merely took these things in stride. After all, they had the rest of their lives to get to know each other.

And have amazing sex.

That was one thing Hodges definitely couldn't leave out. The sex. The wonderful, kinky three-way sex that just seemed to get better and better as time went on.

"Mmm. They have poppy seed almond rolls here," said Greg, pouring over the menu in front of him. Hodges couldn't help but stare at the young man. The midnight-black suit he'd worn to the restaurant hugged him in all the right places, making it very difficult for Hodges not to assault him as they'd been leaving Nick's apartment. "You know," Greg went on, "they're supposed to be a natural aphrodisiac."

"So you want to sit through the whole meal with a boner?" Nick asked, straightening his tie.

Greg smirked, still staring at the menu. "Not if someone wants to follow me into the bathroom."

Hodges had to admit, he found that idea very appealing indeed. Greg, who happened to look up at just that moment, saw it clear as day in his eyes.

"Is it the suit?" Greg asked curiously, winking at the trace technician. "'Cause you've been eye-fucking me since we left and I kinda like it."

"Get the rolls," was all Hodges replied.

Nick sighed like an exhausted mother of two unruly toddlers. Shaking his head, he flipped through his menu until their waitress came over. Nick ordered a scotch on the rocks for himself, while Hodges asked for red wine. To his colleagues surprise, when Greg opted for an apple martini, the waitress actually asked for his ID.

Nick and Hodges still couldn't stop laughing after she'd left. Greg slipped his driver's license back into his wallet, scowling at the pair. "Excuse me if I'm not over the hill yet," he stated, leaning back in his seat.

"Oh, come on darling. Even _you_ have to admit that was funny," said Hodges, staring indulgently at Greg.

"I hope you realize she's going to spit in our food now," the young man countered, referring to their waitress. "She could see you ogling her tits, Hodges."

The lab tech crossed his arms over his chest. "I wasn't ogling."

"Just like you _weren't_ ogling my ass in this suit?" Greg challenged, a sly smile on his lips. "Not that I minded, of course."

"The rainbow trout looks good," said Nick, apparently ignoring the bickering going on at the table. He continued leafing through his menu. "I know you two don't like fish, but I'm telling you—you're missing out."

Greg made a dismissive gesture with his head. "Fish reminds me too much of that crime scene a couple months ago at Lake Mead."

Frowning, Nick set down his menu. "Hey, didn't I say no shop talk? I thought we were here to get away from work for once."

"Except that's kind of impossible since we all work together," Hodges pointed out.

"Don't make me spank you over my knee right here," Nick threatened, though there was no real malice in his tone. Hodges found it highly amusing whenever he could get Nick to make sexual threats in public—probably because the man had such a squeaky clean image in comparison to, say, Greg, who everyone already knew was kinky as hell.

Speaking of which, a big puppy dog frown appeared on Greg's face. "Why don't you ever threaten me with spanking?" he asked the Texan.

"'Cause you'd enjoy it too much, Greggo."

Hodges chuckled, glancing at the young CSI. "In fact, I think you'd enjoy it even more if Nick bent you over his knee right here and—"

"Are you _trying_ to make me jizz my pants?" Greg interrupted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Maybe," Hodges teased.

"Alright, that's it," said Greg, rising to his feet swiftly. "Bathroom. Meet me there in thirty seconds and don't dawdle." Turning on his heel, he hurried off in the direction of the restrooms.

Nick smirked, gazing across the table at Hodges. "Well that was quick. He didn't even last until the drinks arrived." The trace technician shot him a desperate look. "Alright, alright—go," Nick consented. "Just be back before the waitress starts to wonder what you're doing in there."

Happily, Hodges got to his feet and left the table. As he passed by the kitchen on his way to the restrooms, all he could think was how lucky he felt to have not one, but two people that cared about him, and that he cared for in return. Two people he could do stuff like this with—two people that he respected. It wasn't just him; they were all lucky. And ironically, luck wasn't something that Hodges even thought he believed in until now.

When Hodges pushed open the bathroom door to meet Greg, it was with a beaming smile on his face.


End file.
